Luck Be A Lady Tonight
by cally777
Summary: New Vegas is the place to make bets for the highest stakes, and Cass wants to make one with Veronica. For her virginity.
1. Whisky Talking

Luck Be A Lady Tonight by Cally777

I will make the usual disclaimer of not owning Fallout New Vegas etc, even though I've read it has no legal validity. But any lawyers out there should appreciate we're having fun not making money (assuming they can get their heads around such a concept!)

This is my first bite at NV, and I'm looking forward to using my favourite characters. The story is roughly at the stage which my current game has reached, for whatever that's worth. It should be obvious that its unlikely to reach epic status like the last one, and will probably be a two to three-parter at most.

Contrary to my previous practice, I've turned aside from writing another story (for Fable2) to begin this one. I felt I had to go with the inspiration while it was there. However this could cause both stories to suffer in terms of update times. Indeed it already has (any Fable fans will at least know I wasn't metaphorically sitting on my arse!). Its a step into unknown territory, which some might consider exciting. Let's see how well I can juggle!

The Fable story is a T, but this is definitely an M, and you know what that means.

The illustration (cropped) is by lilibombe on deviant art (rights and ownership acknowledged). Especially when viewed full-size, it looks like she drew it for this story, but its pure coincidence.

* * *

Ch 1 Whisky Talking

"What's up with you, Santangelo," Cass drawled, "is that you need to get laid."

Veronica bit her lip. Since it was only mid afternoon, there was a chance Cass wasn't very drunk. They were on their own in the pool room of the Lucky 38's Presidential Suite, so if she kept her mouth shut, the ex-caravanner might lay off. As with most bullies, a response from her favourite mark was fuel for her to become even more obnoxious. Silence, on the other hand, might be enough to cut off the fiery redhead's verbal flow. Unless she was drinking heavily, in which case whisky was the high octane that would keep her keeping on. Or if she had an audience.

Unfortunately Boone chose that moment to walk in, closely followed by Arcade.

"Hey guys," Cass slurred. "Veronica needs a fuck. Which of you gentleman is gonna oblige?"

"I'm not really up for that." Arcade gave Veronica a sympathetic look. "And I think I can speak for both of us on this occasion." Predictably Boone said nothing, merely maintaining a contemptuous stare from behind his sniper's sunglasses.

"Well ain't that a disappointment." The redhead tilted up her black Stetson, and leaned back in her chair. "I guess we're gonna have to find some other way to get your cherry popped, Santangelo."

Veronica felt her cheeks beginning to burn, wished that she had the luxury of hiding her face within her hood. But with Robert House, the Lucky 38's former owner, dead, they couldn't rely on its talismanic status, or even its robot guardians, to keep NCR and Legion assassins away. They were playing for high stakes now, and armouring up most of the time seemed like a wise precaution. Veronica's reinforced metal helmet was a natural accompaniment to the Mk2 combat armour the Courier had provided her with. Her Brotherhood training made her accustomed to wearing heavy gear, but right now the tribal-style helm merely served to frame her blushing countenance. She knew Cass scented blood, and was ready to move in for the kill.

"See how the little virgin's getting all flushed and excited." Cass removed her hat and fanned it in Veronica's direction. With typical bravado, she'd put style ahead of bullet-stopping potential, matching the Stetson with her black and silver combat gear. "She's clearly ready for a seriously heavy pounding."

Avoiding her sadistically amused glance, Veronica looked in desperation to Arcade. _Please, please save me! _With the Courier away, the blonde, bespectacled Followers' doctor was her one and only hope. And her only real friend. His sarcastic wit was the perfect complement to her own, a defence they both employed to cover for a lack of inner confidence. In Arcade's case, this mostly stemmed from the demons of guilt in his past, and the impression that, alone amongst the Courier's Companions, he was not a natural warrior. They'd shared enough inner turmoil to become close, with the added advantage of knowing it would never become sexual between them. Veronica was ready to believe that, without each other, too long a stay at the Lucky 38 would drive them completely insane.

But while Arcade undoubtedly understood her embarrassment, and cared enough to rescue her from it, he wasn't usually strong enough to take on Cass in her current mood.

"Can we ease down the testosterone levels here?" It was a weak plea, and Cass threw it off without an effort.

"Jees, Arcade, we are talking about pleasuring Veronica's pussy. If that ain't a cause for raging hormones, I don't know what is."

"Not for me, sister." Arcade made a final gallant effort on Veronica's behalf. Glancing at Boone, he suggested, "Rack 'em up?" The sniper shrugged, and reached under the pool table for the wooden triangle and balls.

"Yeah, not for you, Gannon, you fag." Cass reached for her half-empty whisky bottle. After taking a gulp, she added. "Still with the straight part of Vegas lusting for V's pootang, we ought to be able to fix her up one way or another."

Arcade sighed, and took up a pool cue, bending over the table to take aim at the freshly racked balls. _Abandoning me to Cass's tender mercies, thanks compadre! _Veronica decided she'd best come out fighting. At least she might go down in a blaze of glory.

"So c'mon, _Whisky Rose_." She tried to sound offhand and challenging at the same time. "Tell me what genius plans you've got in mind."

Cass grinned to show that she wasn't riled by Veronica's use of her nickname, swigging at the bottle while she waited for the crack of Arcade breaking off to punctuate her next remark.

"I'm thinking a little visit to the Wrangler." Her eyes sparkled wickedly. "Losing your virginity to a sex-bot or ghoul ought to ensure you'll never forget that magical first time!"

Arcade angrily expelled air, which Veronica was sure wasn't because he'd fluffed the break. He was suffering with her, which was nice, at least. But he'd probably figured that Cass had her snookered, and there was nothing he could do about it.

She knew that the ragging being directed at her wasn't only the result of the redhead's sadistic tendencies, though those couldn't be underestimated. Cass was pissed because she hated staying at the Lucky 38. Hated the deadening feel of the thick pile carpet, the permanently dimmed lighting, the blandness of the décor, the luxurious but anonymous furnishing. Hated the frigid sigh of the air conditioning, which haunted the ex-casino like the ghosts of its former past. Even the ghost of House himself. Dead and gone he might be, but he'd left his mark on the place. A cold, empty, soulless one.

It seemed to have that effect on everyone, except perhaps Boone, whose mood and thoughts were generally as obscure as his permanently worn shades. But Veronica did her best to battle against it. She tried making the most of the luxuries provided: the well-stocked refrigerators, fresh running water, soft bedding and springy mattresses. Those at least were a welcome respite from the hot, dry post-apocalyptic wastes of the Mojave. Or from running errands for the Brotherhood to the 188 trading post. She'd joked to the Courier that the room service was great, if you didn't mind it being delivered by vicious, killer robots.

Cass's method of coping with the soul-destroying tedium usually consisted of getting drunk, ranting and, when the opportunity arose, teasing Veronica. Or if she was in a particular strop, outright bullying her. Her present behaviour certainly fell into the latter category.

Well this time she wasn't going to be bullied. No hiding behind self-deprecating humour, no bright, witty, _pretty _Veronica. Yes, she _was _pretty, she'd heard it enough times from lecherous prospectors and drunken gamblers. But how important was that really? The arrangement of two perfectly normal brown eyes … perhaps with the hint of a mysteriously exotic slant … around a nose of unremarkable length, though with a delicately narrow width. And a mouth of average size, albeit with a sensuously full bottom lip. True, some people cared a lot about those things. But then Cass was pretty too, and she could be a total …

In fact Rose of Sharon Cassidy was actually quite beautiful, in a saturnine kind of way. Those sharply arched brows above intense blue-grey eyes, pluckily straight nose, sexily pursed lips and elegantly pointed chin, could have drawn as many infatuated sighs and suggestive comments. Except that Cass usually discouraged them with an attitude that challenged the onlooker: _go on, make my day if you think you're hard enough. _Cass's face, like her manner, was sharp and angular; in contrast to Veronica's softer, rounded features and wide, classical forehead. A perfect illustration, some might say, of their differences in character.

Fuck all that! She could be as tough as Cass when she wanted to be, and she, Veronica, was about to hit back.

"Really, Cass, you disappoint me! Is that the best you can come up with?"

The older woman gave a twisted smile. "Oh, sorry, was I being too imaginative for you?"

"No, quite the opposite. I mean any two-bit pimp could find me a prostitute for the night. I thought you could top that, but looks like I mistook you for someone smart."

_Yeah, suck on that, bitch! Veronica goes for the KO blow!_

She was aware of the immediate attention of the two males in the room. Boone actually glanced up from his shot, his mouth stretching and contracting as the briefest of grins broke the severity of his granite features; he still maintained enough concentration to plant the ball firmly into the corner pocket. Arcade gave a slow and satisfied nod in Veronica's direction. _You go, girl! _Her spirits soared, though tempered somewhat by the knowledge that she'd thrown down a challenge which Cass was unlikely to resist rising to.

It was not the way the Courier would have handled it. But then the Courier was a woman like no other. It was unusual enough for someone to have survived a close range shot to the head, and then to make a near full recovery. To have done so, and then risen to become a major player amongst the competing factions of the Mojave, power-brokering between them like some kind of latter-day king-maker: that went off any scale of peculiarity; that was totally unique.

Veronica had often speculated that this was made possible by the very trauma of the event which changed the Courier forever. The total amnesia which had wiped out any trace of her former life. A woman with no past, and no expectations of what the future might hold. For the Courier seemed to fear nothing and no one, considering no task short of impossible too difficult. By sheer force of personality, and a knack of getting things done, she had established a network of contacts across the Mojave, gathered to herself a devoted band of companions. She spoke now in the highest councils of Caesar's Legion, had influence with all the key movers and shakers within the New California Republic. And she was forging her own grand alliance amongst the minor factions and tribals. Her current trip into the mountains was to secure the allegiance of the Great Khans, who, like many others, owed her a favour.

If she was here now … Veronica recalled a previous occasion when a drunken Cass had been viciously goading her about her Brotherhood connections. _"Fucking has-beens in tin suits with liquid helium in their veins." _Veronica had been weak enough at the time to let a tear trickle down her cheek.

"_That's enough, Cass." _The Courier had spoken only three words, very quietly. And Cass had fallen silent, and was not heard from for the rest of the evening.

As always the memory brought Veronica a sense of warmth, but also of her own limitations. She could not match that invincible charisma. Reliance on her native wits was her only way of outmaneuvering Cass. Unfortunately the ex-caravanner had plenty of tricks of her own up her sleeve. She was rocking her chair back and forth, and smiling, showing no apparent signs of anger at Veronica's answering taunt. _But I bet you're burning up __inside. You're not going to lose face in front of the others without wanting revenge._

"Of course, I'm forgetting." She grinned broadly. "Naive little Veronica, always in search of true love. Well, I can't promise that. But I'm willing to bet I can come up with someone raring to shaft you senseless without wanting money for the privilege."

For a moment Veronica was nearly thrown, like a cricketer expecting a tricky spinner to the off-stump, who has instead been delivered a tame, medium pace ball, just begging to be clobbered for a six.

"Yeah, and I could round-up a whole crowd of Freeside beggars ready to gang-bang you any time of the day or night!" The unexpected way things had turned in her favour had been almost too easy. Was Cass trying to lure her into a false sense of security? She gave a quick glance in Arcade's direction, and he returned her a reassuring wink.

Cass gave the whisky bottle another loving suck. "Whoa there, hold your damn horses, and let me finish! You want me to find someone who'll sweep you off your feet and plug you so good you'll be begging and screaming for more? Sure I can try. But that kinda challenge has to have something in it for me. Like a little wager, let's say."

Veronica again flicked her eyes to Arcade. What was Cass up to here?

She asked cautiously, "What kind of wager?"

"Well, its one you can't really lose. If I deliver the goods, you get a mind-blowing fuck."

"And what about if you don't?"

Cass whistled through her teeth. "Lemme see now. This oughta be some gargantuan size bet. Okay … if I come up short, you can ask me to do anything. Anything at all. You can ask me to strip butt naked and run the length of the Vegas Strip showing off my titties and arse if you want. Or … well, anything that's not physically impossible, I'll do it for you."

"And if you win?"

Cass grinned maliciously. "Then its only fair if I get the same satisfaction. You have to do whatever _I _say."

Veronica considered. The bet as it stood was one that she could hardly fail to win as it depended on her consent. Cass seemed on a hiding to nothing. But perhaps the crafty ex-caravanner might try to mangle things up in a way she hadn't thought of. She'd better make sure to allow her no wriggle room.

"Let's get this straight. If I don't like the date you've found me, I can just say no. In which case you lose."

"Exactly. Well, I guess there's gotta be one condition."

"Oh, I thought there would be!"

"Keep your hair on! Only that you've gotta give whoever it is a fair hearing, and at least allow them to proposition you. Then you get to decide."

Again Veronica was baffled by the absence of apparent risk. Cass's proposal seemed eminently reasonable. If there was any trickery, it was too subtle for her to see through. Her instinct suggested she should steer a wide berth around the whole quagmire, but to do so would be to back down and leave Cass with some kind of moral victory. That she, Veronica, had not dared to take up a fairly offered bet.

Then there was simple curiosity. What exactly_ was_ Cass planning? Could she have some idea of a potential beau she felt Veronica would be unable to resist? If so who? Her mind flicked through some of the possibilities, likely or unlikely. The King? The leader of Freeside's foremost gang was certainly good looking and charismatic, as well as a sharp dresser, even if that style was borrowed from some idolised singer from the distant past. She just couldn't see Cass persuading someone with his responsibilities and reputation into leaving his turf for a romantic liaison. What about Swank, the smooth as silk Tops Floor Manager? He'd taken over as head of the Chairmen after his traitorous predecessor, Benny, had fallen victim to the Courier's revenge. But for all his prestige and convenient presence in the heart of Vegas, Cass seldom showed patience with smarmy bastards who talked like they were in the movies. She might instead prefer a man of genuine passion and panache, such as the Vault 21 artist, Michael Angelo. Much creativity would be needed, however, to arrange a date with someone suffering from rampant agoraphobia, due to living underground for most of his life.

She attempted a careful probe. "What makes you think you can pull this off?"

Cass wagged a finger. "The Lady of Many Secrets asks me to reveal one of mine? Forgive me if I play my cards closer to my chest. But maybe I'm relying on your inner slut to help me out. Like I said, I know you're dying for a good going over."

_My inner slut! _That did it! She had to prove Cass wrong. And there seemed no reason why she shouldn't because the redhead surely couldn't know where Veronica had hidden her heart.

"Okay, you're on! So how do we do this?"

"My daddy used to tell me _'gather roses while you may'._ How 'bout we hit the Strip this evening?"

Despite herself, Veronica was a little shocked. She'd thought Cass would want longer to get things together. How could she get herself and her potential date dolled up and ready for a night out in such a short time? Even if she had a suitable suitor in mind.

Still if Cass was determined to make things hard for herself, she wasn't about to raise any objections. "No problem! I just need a few hours to take a nap, shower and change."

Cass rose from her chair, and approached Veronica. When she'd encroached enough on her personal space to be looking right into her face, she gave her a little pat on the cheek. "Good! You'll need to as you're gonna be up all night getting down and dirty!"

Veronica gazed back with the fascination of a bird watching a snake. There was a sly glint in Cass's eyes that was out of chime with her hard, direct look, and her lips had a mocking curl to them. Observing their full ripeness, and the soft rosiness matching the colour of her cheeks, Veronica could almost feel the fire of her underlying passion, could almost catch the smell of whisky-induced excitement. _She's not a woman who does things by halves, for sure!_

She schooled herself to keep her voice firm and her lips from trembling. "Make sure your own butt's clean as a whistle. You may have to show it off to everyone pretty soon!"

Cass's eyes crinkled with mirth, but stayed fixed on Veronica's. "You keep dreaming, girl."

From behind her, Arcade said excitedly, "This I've got to see! We'll be tagging along with you for sure."

Boone had just finished rolling in the final eight ball. Standing ramrod straight, with the cue butt resting on the floor, he looked, in his First Recon red beret and earth-brown Ranger Patrol Armour, somewhat like a soldier on parade. He gave a curt nod.

Cass tilted back the whisky bottle to drain the last golden drop. Smacking her lips in a satisfied fashion, she said, "Great! Looks like the whole gang's gonna be on board. Vegas here we come!"

* * *

_A natural __accompaniment__: _in fact a Mark 2 combat helmet is the perfect match, but then Veronica's pretty face would be hidden behind the black visor, which wouldn't work in this particular scene. As for Cass, a Desperado Stetson's just natural for her, and is sartorially appropriate for almost any armour, but especially black and silver/grey, such as reinforced leather or Mark 1 combat gear. Style's important!

_With the straight part __of Vegas __lusting__: _Veronica has lesbian tendencies at least, because she tells the Courier about her previous relationship with a Brotherhood of Steel female. However her sexuality is not necessarily common knowledge amongst the Courier's other companions.

_Like a cricketer: _I'd like to have used a more appropriate comparison with baseball, but it didn't seem to translate very well. A slower or _change-up _ball is meant to deceive the batter. The idea here is its just a bad delivery that's easy to hit.

_Gather roses while you may: _originally I was thinking of _carpe diem _(seize the day) but this phrase is also derived from the Latin, _collige, virgo, rosas, _(gather, girl, the roses) and is obviously particularly appropriate for Cass!

_Next time: _where and with whom will Veronica go on her date? What has Cass got under her shirt, and will Boone finally get to speak? And what about the Courier? Do I even know the answers to these questions myself? I'm kidding – I know. Still if anyone wants to place any bets ... now's your chance. You might even change my mind!


	2. Vegas Is Gonna Eat You Up

Ch 2 "Vegas is gonna eat you up!"

The chill blast of the air conditioning hissed across the bedspread, like a cold wind blowing in from the high sierras. Veronica turned uneasily, shrugging herself into a snugger position within her hooded robe. Sleep at the Lucky 38 was sometimes hard to come by, though it often seemed there was nothing better to do. And even when slumber was achieved, the dreams that drifted into the mind could take on the glacial frigidity of a cold, cold heart.

Veronica wanted to get away from that, wanted to take herself to somewhere warm and secure. To a secret place wrapped as tight as her cloak, as comforting as the embrace of strong arms.

_Away from the reach of icy fingers prying for her soul …_

The horns of the new moon hang above the Courier's head, fire light glinting upon the corn gold of her hair. The smell of roast brahmin wafts on the night air.

"You look sad when you gaze into the distance like that."

Spoken in the softest of southern accents. Veronica gives a tight, wry smile."Aren't there enough reasons for sadness?"

The lips curling in response reflect the warmth and glow of the camp-fire embers."Plenty. I wondered what yours were."

Veronica shakes her head, tries to avoid her glance being drawn towards the still calm of those blue eyes, knowing that looking too long will bring the tears. But she has no more chance of escape than the moths dancing on the edge of the flames.

"You want to get me back on my favourite subject?"

A short laugh. "You talk about yourself to distract me from the real Veronica. This time I want to see what's under the hood."

_Please, don't play with my heart! _"Do you really want to know? Why I feel sad?"

"Yes, I really do."

_This time … could it be this time? _"The … the usual reason."

"And that is?"

"Because I'm in love … maybe."

"Oh, _that _usual reason?" A sigh. "You still miss her?"

_No! No! _"I ..."

A strong, gentle hand on her arm, electric shock thrill running along it. "I understand. I know what it is to have something taken from you. But … you have to move on, we both have. We're gonna travel the whole length of the Mojave. You'll find someone else, somewhere, I promise."

_But I already ..._

"And don't worry. That's one NCR thing I won't change when we're in control. Everyone will be able to love whoever they like. No prejudices like there were in the Brotherhood."

_'When we're in control'. That terrifying certainty. Not even the slightest trace of a doubt. How can I tell her? I might as well reach up for the moon._

_If only I knew why she …_

"And what about you? What do you want?" _Who do you want?_

A moment of hesitation. Then that golden smile, the one that has closed out so many deals, the one that threatens to draw out her heart.

"I want people like you around me."

_I will! I will reach for it!_

"And I want to be with you. I want to be with you always."

Leaning forward. _T__he scent of her __hair__ in my nostrils, __her lips so close__ … and then I kiss her ..._

Her lips are firm and warm and taste of whisky.

_Whisky?_

The dream world slides, spins, collides with itself. Zoom out. Zoom in.

The blue eyes she is looking into are not the Courier's. The brows above them are dark and arched, not blonde.

"You know, Santangelo, for a blushing virgin you're not a bad kisser!"

"_You! _What are you doing here! Go away! I … I was with ..."

"She's not here, Santangelo; I am. Here, gimme another smooch!" Cass is grinning like a Cheshire Cat that's got a whole vat of cream.

"Get off me, you drunk! I was with her, and we were about to … B, bring her back!"

"Sorry, no can do. That was part of a dream that didn't happen, wasn't it? You never got up the courage to kiss her. Just hid your funny little face away in your hood."

"Well, I never invited you into my dreams anyway!"

"You must've, or I wouldn't be here. Looks like you can't get me out of your head," Cass smirks.

"If I can't, then it's your fault! You barged your way in! And … where are we, anyway?"

"The _Lucky 38_, of course. Might as well have some fun while we are."

"No, I don't want to have that sort of fun with someone who only gropes women when she's had a skinful!"

"Didn't say what kind of fun, did I?" Cass picks up Arcade's glasses from a dark, hardwood bedside cabinet and suddenly places them on her nose, putting on an oriental face by squinting her eyes and clamping her top row of teeth on her bottom lip. "Ah so! Dress up time, honourable friend!"

"Hey, give those back, four-eyes!"

"Didn't you know? I've got the perk that lets me see twice as good with these babies." Cass dances away out of reach. "Can't catch me, can't catch me!"

A madcap chase down the gloom-filled corridors and stairs that lead to the deserted casino floor. They circle each other around disused green baize card tables, vault over motionless roulette wheels, dodge between silent slot machines.

"Slow Poke! Na-na-ne na-na! " Cass pops out from behind a Securitron. "Now its dress down time!"

Her combat trousers are left in a crumpled heap on the floor. Shrieking with laughter, Veronica pursues her onto the Strip in her panties

"Whoo-hoo, up here!" Cass is on the roof of _Gomorrah_, beneath its showgirl signs, striking the same pose topless, lying back with one leg lifted flirtatiously in the air. "It's stripper-time on the Strip!"

"No, over here!" Cass is dancing in the _Ultralux_ fountain, completely nude apart from her Stetson and Arcade's glasses, amidst a bevy of drunken, half-naked NCR women, and a phalanx of Securitrons trying to restore order and public decency.

Cass peeps out coyly from behind the fountain. "Yoo-hoo, Veronica!" She curls a finger invitingly. "Come closer! How'd you like to see the Rose of Sharon rose-bud?" She turns her sleek, bare back, teasingly swings out a hip. "Here it comes!"

Her left buttock is tattooed with a rambling rose.

"Better take a good look while you can. Because you're never gonna win that bet."

* * *

"Veronica?"

Veronica woke with a start to find Arcade hovering solicitously over her, dressed in reinforced leather armour.

"Sorry, didn't mean to give you a heart-attack. I thought maybe you should be awake by now. Otherwise you'll not have much time to get ready."

Veronica blinked, then yawned. "Did Cass give you back your glasses?"

"Did Cass do what?"

"Er … oh nothing, just a wacky dream I had."

"Really? What I'd give not to dream of moaning spectres dancing round my bed every night. This place creeps you out like nothing else."

Veronica swung her legs onto the floor. "It certainly does. Thank Steel, we're getting away from it for one evening at least." She looked him up and down. "Is this your idea of dressing up for a big night out?"

"I guess I'm not a natural leather man, but no." He smiled. "Boone figured that we guys should be covering your backs, in case someone takes an unhealthy interest. So we'll be armoured up, and you girls can wear whatever glad-rags take your fancy."

"Well, that's sweet of you, though the Casinos enforce a no weapons rule."

"Sure, if you take that for what it's worth." He tapped the holster of his Plasma Defender. "I for one am gonna try smuggling in the Gannon Cannon. At worst they'll temporarily confiscate it."

"I might try the same with my Power Fist. Still I'm sure I'll feel better for your manly protection." She regarded him archly. "But don't you have any hopes for the evening yourself?"

"What, of scoring a jackpot and breaking the bank?"

"No, you know what I mean! Getting Boone to go out anywhere is a pretty tough call. So its a not-to-be-missed opportunity."

"Ah … _those _kind of hopes." He sighed, and sat down on the bed with her. "I'm not sure I'm justified in holding out any of them. He seems to enjoy my company … after a fashion. He knows where I'm coming from, and it doesn't appear to bother him. He hasn't given any negative signals to my little hints … but then he hardly gives out any signals at all. When it comes down to it, all I've got is Gannon gut instinct."

"Then that's the strongest thing you've got. When someone's really attracted to you, you know it. Ask any woman."

"Ooh, well. Not that I doubt the old feminine intuition thing, but I defy any of your fairer sex to get a definite read on Mr. Poker Face. Fifty-fifty is about the best odds you're ever gonna get."

"By all accounts he was totally gooey-eyed about Carla!"

"Yeah, _once _they were married. I can imagine him playing pretty hard to get before that. And then there's the other problem. I mean the whole Carla worship thing."

"Its overcompensation … obviously."

"That's what I'd like to believe, of course. It would fit nicely into the rest of my theory, along with him being wound up as tight as a drum, etc. But if my gut is wrong, then the whole thing collapses like a house of cards."

"Then you have to hope it isn't. Go with your heart." Veronica tutted. "Look, at me, trying to lecture you about that!"

"You'd never go with anything less."

"I really hope I wouldn't. But its going for it in the first place that I'm having trouble with."

"Well, you never know, maybe Cass can help you out with that. With this fantastic date she's organising."

"Miracles can happen."

* * *

Veronica stepped from the lift into the penthouse of the _Lucky 38_, with the feeling of treading on unhallowed ground. House had always insisted on speaking to the Courier alone in this place, and the forbidding sense of his presence seemed to linger, warning her that she didn't belong.

That was a pity, as the top floor of the casino was undoubtedly the most impressive part of the building. The views across the Mojave from the circular glass observatory were unparalleled. Veronica could gaze out and imagine what was happening in far away places. In the distant western mountains, the Courier should be encountering the fierce and mercurial tribalism of the Great Khans. Far south, in bunkers deep beneath the ground, her own people continued the seemingly hopeless task of plotting their return to power. Northwards the crazy Boomers fired artillery at all who approached the no-man's land around Nellis Air force Base. And east the Legion waited at the Gates of Hell, gathering strength to crush the NCR in a final struggle for Hoover Dam.

The chance to think herself outside of the box she was in, to escape from confined gloom into a place of light and air, ought to have been enough to encourage regular visits, despite the taboo. Yet Veronica, like the Courier's other companions, seldom ventured to take the lift to the top of the tower. She'd never been forbidden to do so, but always felt a sense of constraint. When the Courier chose to commune at the shrine of her new totem, she came as before, alone. No one else's presence had ever been required.

And perhaps there was another reason for avoiding the place. Being able to see out of the cage only made the bars feel worse. When Veronica was at the _Lucky 38_, it was because she was not with the Courier … while someone else was. She was being kept on ice, until she was needed.

That made her feel jealous. Not that she suspected the Courier of dallying with her current companion, Lily. The advantages of being accompanied by a powerful and invisible Nightkin were clear; the chances of romance slim to non-existent. It was simply that Lily was somewhere doing things with the Courier, listening to the Courier, watching the Courier.

It could have been worse, of course. The Courier might have been with Cass. Cass who'd boasted that she'd roll in the hay with anyone of either sex when she was drunk enough. Veronica could tell herself as much as she liked that the Courier was above that sort of thing. She remained a beautiful enigma whose intentions were often obscure. The idea that Cass might defile the idol that Veronica worshipped was one that returned to gall her again and again.

She remembered her first meeting with Cass. She'd just spent a frustrating interlude scavenging for junk at the 188, while the Courier had departed alone on a mission somehow connected with the Crimson Caravan Company. Veronica's temper had grown increasingly short by the time she returned several days later, only to nonchalantly introduce a new companion.

"Veronica, this is Rose of Sharon Cassidy. She'll be helping us out from time to time." The Courier had smiled. "She can be a little blunt, but don't let it worry you."

Veronica hadn't been concerned about that. Looking at the strong, attractive, confident-seeming older woman, she could only see a rival for the Courier's attention and affection. Cass appeared to have picked up on her feelings of hostility and insecurity.

"Hell, it won't be no problem. You want me to treat the Vault Virgin with kid gloves, I can do that."

_V__ault Virgin! _Veronica had instantly bridled. To equate a trained member of the Brotherhood of Steel with those who'd merely been sheltering underground from the Apocalypse was an insult she couldn't let pass. She would teach this arrogant wastelander that she was no bunker rat.

Pushing back the sleeve of her robe to reveal the pneumatic armoured gauntlet on her fist, she'd snarled, "You're welcome to take the gloves off any time you feel like it."

But Cass had only laughed, and brought her own gloved fist forward to touch Veronica's. "Maybe we'll drink together and fight later. Nothing like a bar room brawl for making friends." She'd added, with a wink. "You're all right, Veronica Santangelo."

Veronica paused at the top of the stairway, flushed by a sudden feeling of warmth. Cass had proved a reliable comrade-in-arms from that day to this. They'd saved each other's lives more times than she could remember. And she was good enough company outside of those occasions when bitterness and whisky got the better of her.

_But I can't let her get the better of me._

She descended the stairs to the terminal which House had used to communicate his wishes to the Courier, now occupied by her pet AI, known as Yes Man. Once installed on the mainframe via the platinum chip, Yes Man had taken control of House's defence network on the Courier's behalf. Two massive Securitrons flanked it either side, resembling hulking thugs with their mechanical arms hanging gorilla-like at their sides. Occasionally one of these would touch the floor with a faint clank, providing the only sound apart from the almost imperceptible buzz of static from the computer screen.

Yes Man's beaming face filled the monitor, its simple cartoon-like outline fixed in an expression of permanent affability.

"Ah, my favourite scribe! Great to see you!"

It was designed to look and sound reassuring, but Veronica was too tech-savy to be fooled. Artificial intelligences had no real feelings like people. The illusion of friendliness was just that. Nevertheless she deigned to humour it with a courteous reply.

"It's been a while, Yes Man."

The screen underwent one of its regular flickers. "Yes, it _has, _hasn't it? I always enjoy seeing long absent friends. And may I say you're looking particularly lovely today."

_Is its face-recognition software sophisticated enough to pick up subtle changes in my appearance? Or is it just making a stock compliment? _Veronica gave a mental shrug. "I'm going out for the evening."

"Really? That's fantastic! You're sure to be the belle of the ball wherever you go. I wish I could join you, but, sheesh, I'm stuck here!" Another flicker. "Oh, look at me, making small talk and wasting your time! I'm betting you're here to ask me something, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Go ahead, shoot!"

Veronica drew a breath. "I'd like some information from your cameras monitoring the Strip. And from the Securitrons, of course."

"Just tell me what you want to know. I'm all ears!"

"I want a record of Cass's movements in the last twenty-four hours. Where she's been, who she's talked to and what she said to them."

The fixed smile could not change, but the voice noticeably diminished in enthusiasm. "Aw, its a real shame I can't oblige you there."

"Why not?"

"Because I've been told not to."

"By the Courier?"

"Who else?"

_Who else indeed, _Veronica thought. _I wonder …_

She said, speaking with care. "Security Override. Courier's eyes only."

Yes Man's voice registered faint disappointment. "Veronica, its only in bad sci-fi movies that that works."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. And I want you to know that I think you're a wonderfully smart person. Can I just say that?"

_Sure you can when I've just showed myself up as dumb. _Veronica wondered whether some of Yes Man's compliments were intended to be back handed. Was it that sophisticated? That kind of intelligence was potentially dangerous, though it had shown no signs of being anything but cooperative, at least as far as the Courier was concerned. _Come on, I should be able to out think a mere machine. I'm a scribe, after all! Now how specific could its instructions have been?_

"Can you show me some general pictures of the Strip outside the _Lucky 38_? Speeded up over the last twenty four hours?"

"Sure, why not?"

_Bingo! "_Play through at full speed, but slow down to real time whenever someone walks past the 38 entrance."

"I'm on it!" A pause, during which the monitors around Yes Man flickered briefly. "How's that for you?"

"So quickly?"

"Sorry if that wasn't very exciting. But no one passed the entrance in the specified time."

"No one came in or out? You're sure about that?"

"As I can be for someone who lives inside a metal box."

_Then how could Cass … ? _"Okay, thanks for your help with that."

"If you're happy, then I'm happy." As Veronica turned away, it added, "You have yourself a super great time tonight!"

_I've consulted with the Oracle. And its left me with a riddle._

* * *

Veronica stood beneath the shower head, her mind still awhirl with speculations about Cass and the upcoming evening in Vegas. The sudden rush of hot water from above soothed her as it sprayed over her bare shoulders. She leant back her head, and moved it from side to side, letting the jet play over her face. The water sluicing over her body served to progressively relax her, freeing her thoughts to wander.

In this mellower mood, she was able to appreciate that the idea of going on a date, when separated from the challenge of Cass's bet, was not an unpleasant one. Taken with the surrounding air of mystery, it was actually quite exciting. It had been some time since anything had happened to make her feel special, and she couldn't help enjoying the notion that this was her big night out.

Detaching the shower head from its rest, she directed the spray across her bosom and belly, evoking pleasant tingling sensations. Replacing the head again, and reaching for the soap, she abstractedly began lathering the areas of skin she'd just soaked. The stimulation of her fingers began to give her an even more pleasurable feeling, at the same time that her mind was toying with the idea of an evening of romance.

Her thoughts drifted back to the first time she'd been alone with Christine. The illicit nature of the encounter, the sense of taboo-breaking and the almost incredulous joy that they were at last on their own had made them absolutely unrestrained. She remembered Christine ripping off her panties and dragging her into the shower. They'd clung together so tightly that it seemed they were never going to let go. _I thought I'd rather die than be parted from her. _

Almost unconsciously Veronica slid a hand slippery with soap across her left breast, let the other glide between her thighs. _It was so good when she touched me … if only she was here! _ A moan escaped her lips, and she began to rub herself with increasing urgency. _No, I don't mean that, I wish that the Courier __was __… oh! _Moving her fingers to a faster rhythm, she deliberately plunged her hand in deeper, seeking to grind it against her zone of pleasure. _God! I don't care who, I just want someone, __anyone__ with me now. Touching me. __I need it so much. Damn Cass! Her horny __suggestions__ have got inside my head. _

Her body was responding in sympathy with her own caresses and wicked thoughts, her breasts thrilling, her sex pulsing. _Its too late to stop __now__, I've got to, I've got to … ah!_ Becoming more and more desperate, she worked harder to bring herself to release_,_ unable to prevent her loud moans rising above the hiss of the shower. As her fingers played frantically around her blissed-out centre, her back arched in ecstasy and her butt bucked to shake and rattle the compartment, sensations of relief and rapture overwhelming her, swelling to an almost unbearably pleasurable peak. _Oh, thank Steel!_

She let the water run over her for a while longer, allowed her breathing and bodily rhythms to return to normal. Then she turned the shower off, reached for the towel hanging over the cubicle, and used it to dry herself. Wrapping it around her bosom and waist, she stepped into the dimly lit bathroom, her bare feet pressing into the thick pile.

"Getting yourself … all ready?"

Veronica froze in shock. Cass was standing in the main part of the room, facing the row of mirrors opposite, slightly bent over one of the wash basins.

_How long has she been there? Did she … hear anything? _

Cass finished laving her face, looked up to regard Veronica's dark reflection in the glass. She was wearing a blouse, in coral pink and white check, unbuttoned at the neck and hanging down above the belt encircling the waist of her ripped, faded blue jeans. There was a smile on her lips, but Veronica wasn't sure if it was a knowing one.

"I ..."

"You were making yourself … nice and clean." Cass's tone was sardonic. "Well, look at you, the pure virgin sacrifice, all wrapped in white. Someone's gonna appreciate that. Nothing goes down better than a chaste-looking innocent. Except a dirty whore, perhaps."

_Is she hinting that she heard me? _Flushing, Veronica said, "I have to get changed."

"Be my guest." Cass waved in the direction of a screen, then, continuing to look in the mirror, she began to apply lipstick, followed by eye-liner.

Her cheeks still warm, and her heart beating faster, Veronica snatched up her underwear and scribe's robe. Reaching the refuge of the screen with relief, she took the maximum possible time dressing.

Peeping out, she saw that Cass was still in the bathroom, apparently intent on brushing back her hair. Without pausing in her task, she asked, "So how'r you planning to knock 'em dead?"

Reluctantly Veronica came out from behind the screen, advanced a few tentative steps towards Cass. "I haven't quite decided yet."

"For real? You'd better get a wriggle on. Everyone else is ready. The sooner we hit the Strip, the more places we can go, and the more fun we can have."

Veronica nervously pulled her hood over her damp hair. "You've got it planned out, then?"

Still brushing, Cass said, "I figure we can take in a show at the Tops first. To break the ice."

Veronica managed a small giggle. "Somehow I can't see Boone sitting through one of Billy Knight's stand-up routines."

Cass laughed. "Actually neither can I. Well if it bombs, we can leave whenever we like. Then we can go eat at the _Ultralux_. Hopefully it'll be quality brahmin steaks on the menu, rather than human flesh."

Veronica nodded. "If Mortimer had had his way, I'd have ended up on it myself!"

"And a very tasty dish you would've made!" Cass grinned. "But I'm glad we stiffed that stuck-up arse-hole. Anyway, after that the serious drinking can begin, and the evening should get real interesting."

"And when is your mysterious date gonna appear?"

Cass tapped the side of her nose confidentially. "Now that would be telling, wouldn't it? You'll just have to wait and see."

She put down the brush and turned towards Veronica. Her hair was pulled back and gathered loosely, but several stray flame-coloured locks had fallen across her face. Veronica noted the way her pink blouse was worn casually open at the neck, prominently exhibiting her rose pendant above a hint of cleavage. There seemed to be something wildly wanton about this bravura display which she found difficult to take her eyes from.

To cover her discomposure, she asked, "These are your only clothes for going out in?"

If Cass was bothered by the focus of Veronica's attention, she gave no sign. She shrugged. "They're the ones I'm most comfortable in. Used to wear 'em when I had nothing better to do than bum around bars. Since then I've had to armour up so often, I've hardly ever had the chance to give 'em an outing." She gave Veronica an amused glance. "What … you don't like 'em?"

"No … I …" Veronica decided she'd better change the subject. "Look, if your plan is to get me completely bombed, so that I'll sleep with anyone, well, it's not gonna work. I'm more likely to pass out first."

Cass slapped her thigh. "Dang it! Guess it's onto Plan B." She looked mockingly at Veronica. "Or maybe not. Reckon I'm pretty good at getting people tanked up without them passing out. There's a kinda trick to it. Remember how me and the Courier took on Cook Cook and half-a-dozen Fiends while we were trashed out of our minds on whisky."

Veronica shrugged in her turn. "The way I remember it is that Cook Cook was already out of _his _mind 'cos you'd barbecued his pet brahmin. He killed more Fiends than you did."

Cass wagged a finger. "Yeah, but the point is we got zonked, and _then_ set Queenie on fire. That was the real trick."

"Whatever. So where's this marathon drinking session taking place?"

"Where else but _Gomorrah_? The Sin Palace." Cass smacked her lips. "The perfect place to end the evening. And to lose your cherry, of course."

"If I do lose it."

"Take it from me, you're gonna." Cass was idly toying with the pendant around her neck, which drew Veronica's gaze back in a way that made her uncomfortable. "So c'mon, we ain't waiting all night while you decide what to wear. Because your clothes are coming off anyway, eventually." She resettled the silver rose at her bosom. "What about this famous dress the Courier's supposed to have got you? Can't think of any better time to christen it. Like a kinda long kiss good-bye ..." She stopped when she saw Veronica's expression. "What?"

Veronica tried to keep the edge of anger out of her voice; it would give too much away. "As it happens, I can think of plenty of better occasions than this one." _No way am I going to let you taint the most precious gift that I've ever received._

Cass waved a hand dismissively. "Fine. Make your mind up, is all I'm asking."

"Maybe I'll just go as I am."

Cass tilted her head to one side to regard Veronica, a slight smile on her face. Nodding, she said, "That could work. The air of mystery, with the hood. And when you wear robes, people tend to think about what you've got under 'em. If anything." She grinned. "Yeah, I can totally see the Virgin Priestess look on you. But there's still something missing." Picking up the tube of lipstick, she advanced on Veronica, who backed away apprehensively. "Hey, no need to get alarmed. You're surely not scared of Cassie, are you?"

Once more Veronica found herself fascinated by Cass's eyes as she drew near. But this time their blue depths seemed to have no hint of guile, but a tenderness that was almost motherly. She was unable to retreat further, her back pressed against the wall. Cass drew slowly closer, as though approaching a small animal that might take fright.

"Don't be afraid. I'm not gonna bite you."

She took the tube of pale pink lipstick, and smeared it over her index finger. Then she leaned towards Veronica, supporting herself against the wall with one arm. With her free hand, she reached out to gently touch Veronica's lips, then carefully began to apply the make up to them.

Veronica's heart beat rapidly. Cass's intent face was millimeters from her own, the sensation of her fingers brushing against her lips pleasant. She could smell Cass's warm, whisky-scented breath, and her musky perfume. The way the older woman was leaning over her had pressed their breasts together, Veronica's heaving with the faster pace of her respiration. She remembered the dream, and shivered, excitement and tension mingling.

Cass finished her task, and straightened up as though to better examine her handy-work. She gave a satisfied nod. Veronica moistened her pinkened lips, which now closely resembled Cass's own. She waited to see what the redhead would say or do.

Cass looked searchingly at Veronica, and this time shook her head. "You have a such a cute innocent look about you, its a pity to spoil it. But that's just what happens here."

Something of the hardness returned to her eyes.

"Vegas is gonna eat you up."

* * *

_*Vegas is gonna eat you up: _The chapter title is a tribute to the very talented artist responsible for the artwork of Cass and Veronica above, the original title being _The Waste's gonna eat you up_. And the scene is recreated in this chapter (kinda). lilibombe this is for you, and thanks.

_Only in bad sci-fi movies: _Not strictly true. It happened in _Alien, _one of the greatest sci-fi movies ever.

_Christine: _Christine Royce. According to Wiki, she's Veronica's former lesbian lover. The Brotherhood (and specifically Veronica's mentor Elijah) disapproved of the relationship, and she left, while Veronica decided to stay. Christine appears in various New Vegas DLCs, and its fair to say has a pretty hard time of it.

_I'd have ended up on it: _Just for fun, I tried getting Veronica on the menu. She was all ready in the larder, but killing Ted Gunderson messed things up, and they ate him instead. I suppose the Courier could've explained it was just a clever ploy to confuse them!

Okay, so this chapter has answered hardly any of the questions I posed last time. Guess y'all have to wait for the next one!*


	3. Great Khans and Cowgirls

Ch 3 Great Khans and Cowgirls

"So I know this guy whose motto is _Love Thy Neighbour. _He lives next to a brothel. Whoa!"

Billy Wright was hunched over the mike before the deep blue curtain that formed the backdrop of the Aces' Theatre stage. His rather blocky features were creased in a frown of concentration which, considering the flimsiness of his material, seemed unwarranted, as he nervously faced the small audience seated at dimly-lit tables in front of the bar. It was mostly the usual mix of NCR citizens, including professional gamblers and soldiers, though surprisingly a group of tribals occupied one corner.

"A ghoul goes to a doctor and says, 'Doctor, doctor, I've got this horrible rash!' The doctor says, 'That's your face.' I did it!"

"This is where they should be handing out the rotten Mutfruit," Arcade growled testily. "Whose idea was it to come here again?"

Veronica giggled, and held up her hands in denial. "It's Cass's gig. But honestly, I'm laughing at him not with him."

She exchanged quick amused glances with Cass. They both knew that part of the secret fun was watching the Follower's doctor flinching as Billy creaked his way through his lame routine. A lover of sophisticated entertainment, bringing Arcade to the Aces Theatre was the equivalent of taking a member of the White Glove Society to a brahmin barbecue. As for Boone, it was hard to say whether he was enjoying himself, suffering or indifferent; his expression remained set in a stony mask throughout.

Cass was leaning back in her chair, her hat tilted up in a relaxed fashion. A battered rattan cowboy affair, it should have given her a rather hay-seed appearance. Somehow it matched with her pink plaid shirt, brown suede jacket and torn, blue jeans to form a striking ensemble; or it did as far as Veronica was concerned. The casual but flamboyant sexuality of her apparel brought _Cass _and_ Cowgirl_ together in the scribe's mind in a way that appealed to some deep inner sense of romance. Perhaps it was a consequence of her assiduous devouring of the pre-war literature that it was part of the Brotherhood's mission to recover. She could imagine the ex-caravanner riding a bucking bronco, or cracking a bull whip or … she shook herself out of her daydream as she received a sly nudge.

"You want something to throw?" Cass was addressing Arcade "Try asking those folks over there." She nodded towards a party of NCR soldiers occupying several of the front tables. Drunken and raucous, they were making no secret of their lack of appreciation of Billy's efforts, booing and jeering after every limp gag. Even in a venue less intimate than the Aces, it would have been hard to miss.

Although he often seemed unaware of the poor effect he was having on his audience, on this occasion Billy evidently felt the need to make a special effort on behalf of his most obvious critics.

"Hey, guys!" he quipped in their direction. "You and me have got a lot in common. I'm dying out here!" When this brought a roar of approval from the troops, Billy was encouraged to embark on a piece of shtick greater in length and complexity than his usual quick-fire routine allowed.

"So Caesar says to Legate Lanius, 'What's with these shit new coins you've given to the troops?' Lanius says, 'What's wrong, they've got your head on 'em, haven't they?' Caesar says, 'Sure they have, but the numbers are the ones the profligates in the NCR use. Where's the fucking Roman numerals, dumb-arse?' So Lanius says ..." Billy began to prematurely laugh at his own punch-line, "'But Caesar, I thought you told me to _decimalise _the Legion."

The silence following Billy's sally was absolute. Into it the comedian ventured a desperate and enfeebled explanation, "Decimalise? _Decimate?_"

The lack of audience response and metaphorical tumble-weed continued. Then from near the back a high-pitched laugh was heard. It continued growing louder and louder and more hysterical in quality.

Veronica looked round in shock. It was Boone who was laughing.

It wasn't the laughter of someone having a good time or appreciating a joke. She felt she was hearing the release of an emotion long suppressed, which even now could only be forced out with difficulty, almost like Boone was dry heaving. The windy chuckles sounded desperate, mingling more and more with sobs, a tearing noise as horrid as the scratching of chalk across a blackboard.

She looked helplessly at Cass. But Arcade was already at Boone's side. Putting an arm around his shoulders, he said quietly, "It's okay, Boone, it's okay."

Boone continued to sob. The audience had mostly remained silent with shock, and Billy Wright had left the stage, but Veronica caught the nearby conversation of NCR veterans. _'Combat Stress, seen it a hundred times. Poor fucker. __I've been there.__'_

A hand touched her shoulder. She looked up to see the Head of the Chairmen standing over her with a pained expression on his face.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Swank took a quick, nervous drag on his cigarette. "We don't need a psycho freaking out and disturbing the clients. That ain't ring-a-ding-ding."

Veronica noted that as Arcade continued to hold Boone, his sobs seemed to become less forced, and more a natural outpouring of emotion.

"He'll be fine," she said.

Swank nodded his head dubiously, "If you say so, baby." He took a deeper puff on his smoke, then gestured with it in a way that indicated he wanted her to join him for further conversation. Reluctantly Veronica rose, and moved to stand next to him at the bar. She found the Chairman's affected speech mannerisms irritating, and his rather bland good looks unimpressive.

Regarding her with his soft, dark eyes, Swank observed, "You cats haven't boogied our way too often. Not since your blonde friend sent Benny up to join the Choir Eternal."

Veronica shrugged. "I guess we don't get out much."

Swank chuckled. "That's a pity, baby. Though Benny might not agree. The way she slept with him, then cut his throat wasn't quite out of the Book of Love. Take it that's not your style of romance?"

Veronica winced. The Courier hadn't outlined in detail how she'd disposed of Benny. As a means of getting revenge on the man who'd shot you in the head it might have its attractions. But there was something freakishly calculating about that particular method of execution which didn't fit with the way she preferred to see her idol.

Mentally brushing aside the images invading her mind, she replied,"Not unless you get on my very bad side."

Swank smilingly shook his head. "I don't aim to do that, sweet cheeks. Rather the opposite in fact. Being as you're a swell-looking doll that don't seem to get the attention she deserves. Now if you hang with me, I guarantee I'll treat you like my very own princess."

_So Cass has gone for the obvious ploy after all! _Veronica felt a slight disappointment. This was going to be so simple to deal with, though for the sake of diplomacy, she should let Swank down easy. He had, after all, made a classically smooth play for her. She was struck by an amusing thought.

Inclining her head, and adjusting the peak of her hood to give the appearance of a submissive flirtatiousness, she said coyly, "I guess every girl secretly wants to be a princess."

"Absolutely baby!" Swank took the bait with predictable eagerness. "And why not? All you'll need to do most of the time is look pretty for me. Meanwhile ..." he flicked his eyes upwards "the Tops presidential suite is waiting for us, along with a bottle of chilled champagne."

_That's gotta be enough to fulfill the terms of Cass's bet. If that isn't a pretty direct proposition … _ Veronica took Swank's arm, moving him out of earshot of Cass, and lowering her voice.

"It would've been sweet. Unfortunately I'm what is known as a dyke. I eat pussy, and I like girls not boys. So I have to decline your offer."

She had the satisfaction of seeing Swank completely nonplussed for a moment. But once his jaw had finished dropping, the Chairman made a typically slick recovery.

"Hey, babe, I totally understand. Cats can swing anyway they want as far as I'm concerned, and if I'd known I wouldn't have bothered ya."

"Well, I like to keep it under my hood, so if you wouldn't mind ..."

"Oh, sure, sure!" Swank glanced furtively in Cass's direction. "Whatever you and your girl friend want to get up to when you're here won't go any further."

_My girl friend? Then Cass didn't …_

"And I'll happily let you have a room to do it. But I hope you don't mind me asking … is there any chance I can come and watch?"

Veronica returned to sit next to Cass. Together they stared straight ahead at the stage where Bruce Isaac was setting up, and she asked, "How's Boone?"

"Oh, pretty much back to normal, if you can call it that." Cass nodded to where Arcade and Boone were sitting apart in mutual silent contemplation. A smile touched her lips. "Saw Swank trying to hit on you. Thought for a moment he might make my task easier."

"Not your doing then?"

"Give me credit for a little more intelligence. Could tell he wasn't your type. Anyway you need to get drunker and randier first." She slid a beer glass in Veronica's direction, and turned her attention back to the entertainment. "And maybe old Brucie'll get you in the mood for lurve."

Isaac had begun to croon his signature sentimental ballad, _Green Clouds and Dust Whirls, _accompanying the lyrics by gesturing to the audience like a man trying to avoid drowning in slow motion.

_Green clouds in the sky,_

_Seems forever but we know by and by,_

_That they fade just like caravans passing by,_

_Love seemed like that before._

The song wasn't getting Veronica in the mood for love or any other life-enhancing activity. Rather than inspiring her romantically, it made her feel a trifle queasy. The way Isaac held the final note of each verse was grating on her. She sought distraction by looking round at the audience.

In their corner, a group of Great Khans sat silently and almost unmoving, the high crests of their mohawks barely nodding. There were five of them, all male, and this fact alone was enough to awake Veronica's curiosity. She knew that in the Khans, like many Raider tribes, women warriors were as numerous as the males; something which neither the Brotherhood nor even the supposedly egalitarian NCR could match in practice. As almost every female Khan was a fighter, it was unusual to see such a large party consisting only of men.

Indeed it was seldom now that Khans appeared in New Vegas at all. Since their defeat by the NCR at Bitter Springs, they mostly kept to their tribal areas. That was something of regret for Veronica, who had often secretly fantasized about a romantic encounter with a muscular, tattooed Amazon. The primal wildness, the unashamed sexuality, the _dirtiness _of these barbarian women held a fascination for someone brought up in the conservative Brotherhood. She would've liked to have found out what was under their tight tops and shorts.

None of that applied to this particular group. Apart from being entirely the wrong sex, Veronica felt there was something especially repellent about them, though she was unsure why. Khans often held themselves aloof, but these men interacted minimally even with each other. Instead they seemed to watch everything and everybody, yet with a kind of contempt.

Following the direction of her glance, Cass said, "Now those guys could easily keep you up all night if you let them."

Veronica pursed her lips into a moue of disgust. "I wouldn't want them to."

"Tribals not to your liking?"

"I try to give most everyone a break, but there's something creepy about that lot. I don't know why the Tops even let them in."

"The Chairmen are a little more tolerant and a little less hypocritical than the other Vegas families. They _were _tribals a few generations back, remember. And don't forget Benny employed Great Khans against the Courier."

Veronica hadn't forgotten. In fact she'd been present when the Courier had caught up to them. She remembered the look of superstitious terror on their faces at the sudden appearance of the woman they were convinced they'd left dead and buried. She also recalled the icy calm with which the Courier had negotiated the release of their NCR hostages, and gained them safe passage through the military cordon.

It had been the smart thing to do; and was one of the principal reasons why the Courier had so much credit with the Khans. Yet she'd shown Benny no such mercy. For the first time Veronica wondered about this contradiction. At the time it had simply increased her admiration for the woman: that she could be so controlled, that she could put aside her desire for revenge.

Dismissing the thought, she gave Cass an inquisitive look. "Have you ever … been with one of them?"

Cass grinned toothily. "Just the once. In theory they don't hold with our women; haven't forgiven the NCR for Bitter Springs. But men are men. And I can say that the Khans reputation for stamina isn't in any way exaggerated." She made an obscene gesture with her fingers. "If you want your pussy pounded several times a night … well, that's _one _good way of getting satisfaction."

_Still flaunting her greater experience. She's treating me like I'm her understudy, her pupil. It's almost like Father Elijah over again._

Veronica said in a neutral tone, "Looks like Isaac is done for the night." _Thank Steel._

"All right!" Cass made a signal to the drinks waiter. "Then the Lonesome Drifter ought to be up next. If you can't sing along with that man, you haven't got a soul. Time to pass the bottle!"

"I thought you said we'd be leaving the major drinking until after dinner."

Cass put a finger to her lips. "Shhh! Whisper it! Sometimes I tell little white lies. As well as huge, dirty, black ones. But if you prefer to think well of me, then consider this as a small dress rehearsal for the real thing."

It didn't seem very long before Veronica found herself pleasantly inebriated, and gathered with the others around the table as they listened to the rhythmic guitar and melancholy tones of the Tops singing cowboy. Cass and Arcade were either side of Boone, each with an arm around him, while they wildly waved their fists, and sang to each other with drunken gusto.

_Home, home on the Wastes,_

_Where the Molerat and the Fire Gecko play,_

_Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,_

_And my skin is not glowing all day._

Boone, for once, seemed to be appreciating and even enjoying the attention. Arcade, still singing lustily, looked across to Veronica and gave her the 'OK' sign. She was caught up by the celebratory mood, and although there was nothing much to celebrate, it made her feel closer to her companions. _These are my people now. __Except __for the few times __when I was with Christine, I never lived this intensely in the Brotherhood.__ Despite the competition, and the hang-ups and the __back-biting__, we've got __as much__ to unite us __as to__ divide us. __It's that damn place __that's screwing us up__. __Perhaps now__ we're out of there, we can get __closer__ to our real selves. _She met Cass's eyes. Like her, the ex-caravanner appeared to be enjoying everyone else having a good time. _But what does she really think about me?_ _What will we learn about each other before the night's out?_

The elevated mood continued as they left the Tops and half-walked, half-staggered down the Strip towards the _Ultralux_. Veronica suspected that Arcade was overdoing his drunken lurch, so that Boone, whose physical coordination seemed unaffected, had to support him. _This could be so good for Boone … and Arcade too. The guy needs to let go of the past, relax a little. But then, we all do. We're all damaged in some way. That's what's brought us together. With the woman who's the most damaged of all._

Cass was also staggering a little, though in her case Veronica was _sure_ it was entirely for effect, as she seemed to combine it with a half-dance she was doing, a kind of jitter-bug along the boulevard. From a nearby speaker came a burst of music from New Vegas Radio.

"Hey, they're playing my song!" Cass exclaimed. Grabbing hold of a pretend microphone, she mimed singing along with the tune, while still moving her feet to the music.

_Yes I've got heartaches by the number,_

_Troubles by the score,_

_Every day you love me less,_

_Each day I love you more._

Cass swung herself around a lamppost, a manoeuvre which brought her face to face with Veronica. Grabbing an arm and placing a hand on her hip, she invited ... practically compelled ... the scribe to dance with her. Veronica giddy and flushed with drink and excitement, was not unwilling, and together they whirled across the plaza in front of the Strip's most exclusive casino, watched with amusement by Arcade and Boone.

Veronica found she was gasping and laughing, as Cass swung her round, and pulled her towards herself. Once she'd recovered from the dizzying sensations, she became even more conscious than before of the red-head's physical presence, her intense gaze, the rosy glow of her skin, the perspiration running down her face, neck and cleavage, her firm, sure grip.

Feinting, Cass somehow contrived to bring Veronica close to the _Ultralux_ fountain, then lifting her completely off the ground, she rotated to dump her into the water. As Veronica shrieked and giggled, Cass executed an exaggerated huge leap to join her in the ankle deep pool, sending up a gigantic splash.

Veronica let the spray from the cascade mist her face, feeling light-hearted in a way she hadn't since … since the Courier had given her the dress. She was aware of Cass approaching her from the side. She had removed her hat, and was smiling. Veronica turned towards her, watching the beads of water dripping from her hair, and trickling down her cheeks. This time she made no attempt to retreat. The smile on Cass's face spoke of secrets, and Veronica studied it, as one would a familiar book which has in some way revealed itself to have an entirely new meaning. It seemed as though there was nothing but the rushing of the fountain, and the two of them with their heads close together.

Delicately Cass flicked Veronica's hood back over her shoulders, and leant forwards. Then she firmly placed her own hat on Veronica's head, releasing a deluge of water to soak the scribe.

"Gotcha! Don't ever let your guard down!"

By now, Arcade and Boone had caught up to them, still supporting one another. The Follower's doctor raised his eyebrows enquiringly.

"You two having fun?"

Cass grinned mischievously. "One of us is at least, the other's just got very wet." Snatching back her hat, she added, "Hell, I'm getting powerful hungry. I need something tender to get my lips around. Time to eat!"

The radio broadcast, more distant now, echoed the chorus once more in Veronica's head.

_Yes I've got heartaches by the number,_

_A love that I can't win,_

_But the day that I stop counting,_

_That's the day my world will end._

_Its more like my tune, _she thought.

* * *

"Eating a meal like this makes me real sorry for vegetarians." Cass forked a large slice of Brahmin Wellington into her mouth. "Its to die for."

"The brahmin already has." Veronica remarked. "And Phillipe, the cook, only escaped by a hair's breadth. We were that close to putting a bullet in his brain. Luckily he was prepared to cooperate with the plan to expose Mortimer by serving up fake human flesh for the White Gloves' banquet."

"Well bless your heart for that. To lose the recipe for this pastry would've been tragic."

"The food's good," Arcade agreed, his mouth half-full. "But ..." he gestured around the room, "Considering this is supposed to be the premier restaurant in Vegas, and what we're paying, I'm a little disappointed by the décor. And I'm not saying that the _Ultralux_ hasn't got some pretty impressive rooms, because it has, but this isn't one of them. I mean, that curtain backdrop is so pretentious; there's no need for it. Then there's not enough light, and the brown colour scheme's too sombre for my taste."

"You should see the kitchens round the back then." Veronica shuddered. "Spooky!"

Choking slightly, Cass exclaimed, "They can serve me food like this in the black pits of hell for all I care!"

Arcade shrugged. "I guess I should be grateful I can eat in this place at all. Unlike a lot of the poor bastards out there. But they could put the prices down. Look, the joint's more than half-empty."

"That's the way they like it." Veronica asserted. "The more exclusive the better. Didn't you notice how that stuffed shirt of a doorman wouldn't let the Great Khans in?"

"I certainly did!" Cass laughed. "And weren't they wild about it!"

Boone looked to be on the verge of speaking, then appeared to change his mind.

Veronica nodded, "You know if I didn't know better, I'd think those guys were following us about. They were right behind us when we came in, and ..."

Interrupting her, Arcade said, "Isn't that the King over there?"

Veronica looked, but her view was partly screened by a haughty yet obsequious waiter in full evening dress. Regarding her through the slits of his formal golden mask, he asked, "Does madame require more wine?"

"No!" Veronica snapped irritably, trying to see past him. On the other side of the sparsely populated dining room, a man sat at a table on his own, just in front of the velvet curtain which Arcade had considered an affectation. Wearing a light coloured blazer and black shirt, his hair was carefully shaped in the pre-war style characteristic of Freeside's pre-eminent gang. As every member of the Kings aped the features of their long-dead idol, confusion about any individual's identity was natural, but Veronica had met their leader several times, and could pick him out by several distinguishing marks. Her voice registered surprise.

"It's the King all right. I wouldn't have expected to find him in a place like this though."

"Neither would I," affirmed Arcade. "As I've become painfully aware, Freesiders are more likely to be dining off fresh rat meat than quality brahmin steaks. And I always figured the King was a man of the people."

"Oh, c'mon!" Cass sneered. "What would you do in his position? Leadership has its privileges. Are we scavenging off scraps when we've got a big bag of caps to spend? We're all hypocrites when our personal comfort's at stake."

Veronica could tell Arcade was affronted by Cass's cynicism, but didn't have a ready response. _And __there's some truth in what she says. _

She came to his defence nevertheless. "Only if we pretend to be something we're not."

"And you don't think any of us are pretending?" Cass's sudden sharp glance left Veronica feeling exposed. "Wouldn't that be peachy?" She pushed her half-empty plate aside. "Well, since you're in such a forth-coming mood, how 'bout you go and pay your respects to His Majesty on our behalf. Might be as well to remind him what an honest and true bunch of idealists we are." Her voice was heavily laden with irony.

Veronica's embarrassment increased. "I don't think he'd be happy to see me right now."

"Oh, I don't know." Cass was clearly enjoying the scribe's discomfort. "I always wondered whether he had a soft spot for you. Struck me as the kind of guy who'd appreciate the pure and innocent type."

"I'm not … " Veronica stopped. _Is Cass hinting that the King is supposed to be my date? That could explain why he's here rather in Freeside. But would he really …? _"You wouldn't say that if you saw the kind of girls who hang around the School of Impersonation."

"Exactly. So if you've got dog-meat easily available at home, you're more likely to fancy that juicy steak from out of town." She spread her hands. "There's only one way to find out."

Despite Cass's rather unflattering comparison, Veronica couldn't help feeling pleased at the idea that the King would put aside his many responsibilities to take her out. Especially as, setting aside his gender, he was one of the most charismatic individuals she'd come across, with the kind of rugged good looks that straight women would kill for. _And I mustn't let Cass win by not giving him a chance._

She shrugged. "Okay, what the hell."

The King's expression, as she approached him, was closer to one learned at poker rather than impersonation school, giving nothing away. His eyes, as usual, were somewhat narrowed, and his flattened, boxer's nose and high cheek bones would not have looked out of place on a statue of granite. _I'd love to see whether he could beat Boone in a staring-out contest. _But as she came closer, his lips curled upwards minimally, and he made a suave gesture indicating she should take one of the empty seats.

"Veronica! Its always good to see you. And your friends, of course." His voice was a carefully constructed imitation of the long-dead singer that was his name-sake. Veronica wondered whether his original voice had been lost forever.

She sat down. Now that she was actually confronting the man she suspected was about to proposition her, she felt herself tongue-tied. Fortunately the King filled in the awkward pause.

"It's a joy for me to know that my Rex was cared for by someone prepared to put their life on the line. The Courier told me how you protected him from cazadors on the way to seeing Dr Henry in Jacobstown. Any time you want to take him out again, you're welcome."

Veronica shivered involuntarily at the memory. She remembered all too well the desperate battle that had taken place in the mountain valley, where an agonising sting from one of the 'butterflies of death' had nearly killed her. Only the swift action of the Courier in applying anti-venom, and her precise aim in shooting their wings, had prevented them both dying. In truth she'd been too busy trying to stay alive amidst the swarm of deadly insects than worrying what was happening to the King's cyber-dog. His survival was purely due to the Courier ordering him to remain in the rear, as his canine instinct to bound forward and fearlessly attack anything hostile would have inevitably led to his demise.

But she accepted the King's conversational opening gambit. "We were all delighted that Rex got the treatment he needed. How's his new brain shaping up?"

The King's voice was instilled with a note of genuinely warm enthusiasm. "Oh, he's absolutely fine with it. Just running around like he's a puppy again. You know I'll swear he's actually faster after the rats than he was before."

_Because he has the brain of that psycho Violet's dog, Violetta. Which raises the question, which of them has really survived? Oh well, so long as he/she/it's loyal to the King, and he's happy …_

Veronica assayed a goofy grin, which she hoped might tempt the King to be more forthcoming. Instead he responded with an uncertain smile.

"Forgive me, but is there anything I can help you with?"

_This doesn't seem right. _"Well, to be honest, I was a little surprised to find you in this neck of the woods, so I ..."

"Ah, I see." The King's expression was a trifle pained. "You know when you have the responsibilities of taking care of an entire district, and a whole bunch of people relying on you to give them leadership, it can get occasionally wearing. Being able to get away from everything once in a while makes all the difference but …" he smiled again wryly, "you're here yourself, so you ought to understand."

"Believe me, I do," Veronica said earnestly. _C'mon get on with it! _"But, isn't there some other reason?"

The King shook his head fractionally. "I'm not sure I'm following you, Veronica."

_I guess playing hard to get is more his thing. How can I draw him out? _She had an inspiration. "Don't you think its real lucky we've both come here at the same time? Seeing as … we've got so many things in common … like being fond of animals and ..."

The King raised a hand. "Whoa! Sorry, I see where you're going with this. Erm, Veronica, you're really a nice person, for whom I've got a great deal of respect …"

_Oh, oh no! Cass, you sneaky ..._

"And this is no reflection on you personally ..."

Veronica twisted to look furiously at Cass. The redhead smiled and winked broadly at her, then turned to say something to Arcade. Looking angry, he shook his head in a disapproving fashion.

"But to be completely truthful, I've never thought about you in the romantic sense ..."

_Cass hasn't arranged a date for me with the King at all. Instead she's set me up for another humiliation._

* * *

"Too rich for my blood." Arcade shoved his hand of cards towards the scantily clad croupier.

"Mine too." Veronica did likewise.

"Aw, you're a couple of pussies! It's only a little old raise!" Cass sat back and folded her hands behind her head as though to contemplate her hand and the three cards of the poker flop in front of her. "Ain't I getting any action at all?"

Arcade shook his head. "Not when you've sold your soul to the devil. Every time you raise_, _you catch me with crap."

_I can believe that, Veronica thought. The soul-selling bit anyway. If the devil came in for Cass's soul, haggling for a price would be the only thing on her mind. And this would be the place she'd choose to do it._

The _Gomorrah_ casino had been designed to give its clientale the impression they were in hell. Not the kind of hell which involved imprisonment and torture (except for those whose sexual preferences tended towards those kind of games). Nor the kind that soldiers of the NCR and Legion suffered on a daily basis. It was more the cosy kind of hell which inflamed the fires of passion, that offered the temptations of all sorts of depravities, like boxes of sweets stuffed full for the jaded palate. Where the minimally clad dancers could be persuaded to leave off their erotic gyrations to perform a different kind at the whim and caps of clients who knew exactly what they'd come for. Where nothing was forbidden except the most extreme forms of debauchery, and perhaps not all of them. Where strictly no questions were asked, and identities kept secret. If anything shameful occurred during a visit to _Gomorrah_, it was probably something the guilty party would look back on with relish.

The central motif in the casino area reflected the infernal theme; a giant spinning mobile of a nude showgirl toasting over a fiery furnace. The devilishly red décor, the guttering torches and the Stygian gloom of the recesses reinforced it. But it showed even more on the flushed faces of its patrons. Lust, greed, gluttony, envy, pride; a whole new list of deadly sins would need adding to keep up with those exhibited by visitors to _Gomorrah_.

Rather than any of these Veronica was afflicted by boredom. That in itself might seem a crime in a city like New Vegas. However it was not gambling or licentiousness per se that was responsible for her sense of ennui, rather that the current game of poker seemed to be dragging on for an interminable time, while she continued to wait for Cass to reveal her hand. Not the two hole cards she was concealing, but the mysterious date that by a process of elimination must be present at this casino. Meanwhile her companions seemed intent on taking the game very seriously even, despite his lack of success, Arcade.

The common cards showed King, Ten, Seven, unsuited. Cass had just raised by an amount equal to half her remaining chips. Boone, sitting in first place 'under the gun', hadn't yet had a chance to respond to her play.

Kibitzing from the sidelines, Arcade said, "Boone, she's representing the Khan of Khans. Unless you have one, might as well throw in your hand, my friend."

Boone remained silently impassive behind his sunglasses, as he pushed forward an amount of chips equal to Cass's.

"Wow, Mr. Caution gives me some action! I've gotta respect that!" Pushing up her hat, Cass leaned forward again with evident engagement.

Veronica said to Boone, "Craig, can I see your hole cards? I promise I won't say anything or react. I'm getting tired of twiddling my thumbs here." _There's a hint to Cass to make her move._

Boone hesitated, then nodded a little reluctantly. Veronica carefully turned up the edges of his cards. He had a King of Clubs and a Ten of Spades, which, combined with the flop, gave him two pairs, a hand that was hard to better given the available cards, even should Cass have a second King. This seemed like another bet which had her beaten all ends up.

Cass, however, showed nothing but sunny confidence. Signalling to the dealer, she said, "Hit us with another!"

The woman leaned forward, stretching her tight leather top in a titillating fashion. Like the other female attendants, she was heavily made up. _Probably another whore for hire, _Veronica thought.

The fourth or turn card was the Queen of Hearts.

"Hey, the Lady with the Red Hair. That's gotta be a lucky sign!" Cass exclaimed. Casting a sly glance in Arcade's direction, she added, "You can keep your Great Khans. I've always had an eye for the ladies. And your Kings are called Cowboys usually. So why not call 'em Cowgirls too?" She took a heavy swig from her whisky bottle. "Here's to cowgirls everywhere!"

"To cowgirls!" Veronica and Arcade echoed, raising their glasses in response.

Arcade tilted his all the way back, and savoured the whisky. "If you like 'em so much," he suggested, with more drunken aggression than usual, "Why don't you take the opportunity to raise Boone's arse. I, for one, would like to see his arse raised. What'd you think, V?"

Veronica giggled. "Sure, he's shown a pretty tight one up to now!"

"You know, you're absolutely right." Cass touched her nose in a conspiratorial fashion. "But it so happens its his call."

Throughout the byplay, Boone had exhibited a magisterial calm. Now he simply rapped his fist on the table.

"There you go," Arcade said. "He's leaving it up to you."

"Yeah, go for it." Veronica added.

She was surprised to see that for the first time Cass showed some hesitation, peeping at her hole cards as though she'd forgotten what was on them.

"Well I'm jiggered if there's not one more card to come. No sense throwing in alla my chips too soon. I check as well. Let's see what's on the River."

_That looks like a weak move, _Veronica thought. _There's at least some threat of a straight. If she'd gone all in, Boone might have thought twice before putting in his chips. Even though he has more left._

With the faintest of eyelash flutters in Boone's direction, the croupier dealt the final or River Card, a Three of Hearts.

_A three can't help Cass. There's no flush draw, and that straight looks difficult now. Boone has position, and the initiative._

Almost as soon as the card hit the table, Boone stretched out to push all his remaining chips towards the centre.

"All in," he said.

His tone was soft, but his words seemed to have a leaden weight. _Calculation and precision are Boone's middle names. Cass can't __possibly__ call him. I'll enjoy seeing her squirm for a change._

Showing no sign of pressure, Cass was regarding Boone's chips as though they were a down payment on a caravan consignment. Speaking to the dealer, she said briskly, "Give me a chip count."

The woman complied. "You're short by a hundred."

"A hundred, eh? Too bad, I'd like to win 'em all." Affixing her hat even more firmly on her head, Cass addressed her opponent. "How about it, Boone? What can I offer you to even up the odds?" When Boone remained silent. "Why don't we make this more interesting? I'll tell you what I'll stake for your last hundred chips. A secret that I happen to know. A secret held by someone sitting here now. One that directly concerns you. And I'll tell it to you if you win."

_Damn Cass, she's gone too far this time! _ Arcade had removed his glasses, revealing blue eyes that suddenly looked tired and a lot older than his thirty-five years. His cheeks had acquired a greyish hue, and his blonde hair seemed closer to white. His gaze went from Boone to Cass, and then back again, with a kind of weary desperation.

_This isn't the right time, or the right way. You bitch, how can you torture him like this? _Silently Veronica mouthed, 'Don't do this' in Cass's direction.

Cass ignored her. Still focused on Boone, she asked, "So what do you say? Your chips versus my secret?"

Boone looked once, briefly, in Arcade's direction.

"No," he said.

Veronica sighed with relief. Cass gestured impatiently to the dealer. "Whatever. I'm all in, in any case."

The croupier raked Cass's chips to join Boone's. To the sniper she said, "You've been called, please expose your cards." When Boone flipped them to show his hand, she announced, "Sir has Cowboys Up. You must better Kings and Tens to win."

Cass gave a dazzling smile. "Cowboys, eh? Not bad at all. Well I've got a pair of Cowgirls too … in my hand."

She turned her cards to reveal the Queens of Spades and Diamonds.

"Madame has Three Queens," the dealer proclaimed. "She wins with triples."

"See." Cass aimed a teasing glance at Veronica. "I said I preferred the ladies." Taking the Queen of Spades, she planted her lips on it. "Well, now I've got most of Boone's chips, shall we finish up?"

"I'm done," Arcade declared tersely. "I'll cash in the few chips remaining to me."

"Me too," said Veronica. "I've had enough gambling for the night."

"Sure, that'll give us more drinking time. As the big winner, the whisky's on me. If that's okay with you, Boone?"

The sniper was on the point of replying, but abruptly turned to face away from Cass.

The five Great Khans from the Tops were standing next to their table. They formed a semi-circle around their leader, who was well over six feet tall. A red bandana circled his head beneath his short mohawk, and, like his companions, he wore a long black leather jacket. His neck and arms were tattooed and a single earring dangled from his right lobe.

_What are they doing? _Veronica thought. _Surely Khans aren't going to make trouble here. _She recalled that the Khans and the Omertas, the gangsters who ran the casino, were supposed to have been at war. It was another venue they shouldn't have been able to get in. Yet here they were.

The leader had his eyes fixed on Boone, and, it seemed to Veronica, on his red First Recon beret.

"Well, NCR man," he said. "What's your answer to the lady?"

His voice, although tinged with aggression, was controlled and precise. With a combateer's instinct, Veronica sensed the man was dangerous. She suspected that, like themselves, the Khans were armed with hidden weapons that the casino doorman hadn't managed to confiscate.

Boone shifted his position ever so slightly, while he stared right back at the Khan.

He said, with finality, "The game's over."

"No." The leader said. "I don't think it is. We ..." he indicated his comrades "want to join. For the eternal honour of the Great Khans, we challenge you."

"Fine," Cass broke in. "Because for the everlasting glory of the New California Republic ..."

Boone's glance flickered towards her, and he gave an almost imperceptible head shake. Cass fell silent. All around, Veronica sensed her companions preparing for violence. While adrenalin poured through her body, she was suddenly aware of her Power Fist, an extension of her arm, ready to strike as though it had a life of its own.

"The game's over," Boone repeated.

The Khan leader laughed shortly. "Do you remember Bitter Springs, NCR man? Were you there with First Recon? When that cowardly rabble of snipers were slaughtering our women and children."

Veronica drew a breath. A muscle twitched in Boone's face.

He said, "I remember Bitter Springs. But ..." after a pause "the presence of First Recon was classified."

"Classified or not, they were there!" the Khan insisted. _Only he speaks, _Veronica thought. _The others wait on him; don't react to anything we say. Not one even mutters in anger or agreement. They're perfectly disciplined. Something's not right with this._

Cass spoke, and Veronica realised she was making one last appeal for reason before conflict became inevitable. She tensed herself ready.

"Some of us were also at Boulder City. We helped your people walk out of there alive."

"We don't care about that!" the leader said. "Refuse our challenge, and you throw the honour of the Great Khans in the dust. That must be paid for in blood."

"There's no insult to Khan honour." Boone's voice had a resonance and an emotion to it which Veronica hadn't heard from him in a long time. "I know the Great Khans well. They always wear their tribal earrings on the left ear. Yours is on the right."

The truth passed through Veronica like a cold wave, combining with the adrenalin rush to boost her reflexes to the maximum.

_They're not Great Khans! They're Legion assassins! _

* * *

*This update has been too long in coming, something which, I think, is a greater grief to me than for those of you who've been patiently (or impatiently) waiting for it. In my present circumstances, bringing out a new chapter is something that I really look forward to, and try to bring on as quickly as I can. But its not been possible before now for reasons which you can go to my fanfiction profile (and thereby to another on deviant art) to find out about, should you wish to. I hope, as always, that the next update will be quicker, and things _are_ improving at the moment to make that possible. But there are unfortunately no guarantees.

In the mean time, this chapter has been something of a teaser, with the identify of Veronica's date still unknown. Other promised events (Boone speaks!) have occurred, and I can near guarantee that much will be revealed (including said date) in the very next chapter. Thank you for reading thus far and stay tuned! Some notes follow as usual.

_Decimalise, decimate: _this joke would work better in the present-day UK, where decimalisation of the currency has actually occurred within living memory. _(Decimation: _the killing of every tenth man in an army as a punishment happily hasn't happened since Roman times). I guess my stand-up routine mostly sucks, but fortunately so does Billy's.

And yes I know there's no numerals, Roman or otherwise, on the game coins.

_Every female Khan was a fighter: _they look pretty tough to me (with the possible exception of Diane) which makes one wonder about the fuss over the Bitter Springs massacre, as you'd have expected their women to fight back. Nobody gets upset about killing female Fiends (except Corporal Betsy).

_Luckily he was prepared to cooperate: _Veronica's cutting a long story short. You have to convince Phillipe you're writing a cook book, or psycho-analyse his childhood abuse issues (really!) to get him out the way before doing the cooking. It's easier to shoot him.

_Three of Hearts: _this, rather surprisingly, is Cass's card in the Fallout Collector's edition pack. I personally would have made her the Queen rather than (double take) _Colonel Moore? _To add further insult, Veronica doesn't even have a card, while Rex does. Absolutely barking (sorry). True there's only fifty two cards but they wasted quite a few on Factions. The Courier as Joker is the best though: its a hand coming out of the ground!

_On the left ear: _I hope nobody's upset if I say I neither know whether this is the case with the Great Khans, nor do I care.

_Damn fine body of men: _just past us is the seventieth anniversary of a different sort of battle for a dam, or rather dams. On the night of May 16-17 1943, the Dambusters (who were, opportunity for flag-waving, _British _aircrew_)_ destroyed two important Nazi hydro-electric dams with bouncing bombs invented by Barnes Wallis. In the 1954 film (and I admit this is a _very _tenuous link) he was played by Michael Redgrave, bearing a resemblance to an older Arcade, complete with glasses. Well, kinda!*


	4. The Quick, Brown Fox

Ch 4 The Quick, Brown Fox

In poker, they say, position can be everything.

The position of first round the table, known as 'under the gun', which Boone had occupied for the final hand, is considered that of greatest vulnerability and greatest initiative. The player must assess the potential of his cards without knowing the responses of his opponents. But with the psychologically powerful ability to act before any of them.

Most calculating players would have preferred Veronica's seat 'on the button'. The dealer position is safest and the most advantageous for estimating the strengths and weaknesses of the other hands. While being the very last to respond.

The Companions' poker positions very closely represented their tactical situation as the fake Great Khans attacked. Boone was nearest, and directly in the firing line. Sitting to his left, Cass was almost as exposed, perhaps more so as she had no armour protection. Both Arcade and Veronica were partially shielded from the initial onslaught by their comrades' bodies and the card table. Veronica's Power Fist was, however, only effective if she could reach her opponents, with a consequent delay before she could enter the combat.

In anticipation of this hiatus, she was already thrusting herself to her feet, gripping the table edge in the hope of flinging it at her enemies to gain time. Unfortunately the table was firmly moored to the floor, and even the additional strength bestowed by her mechanical appendage was unable to shift it.

Boone meanwhile had partially risen and twisted sideways to present a smaller target, while drawing a ten millimetre pistol from a concealed holster. Two of the opponents in front of him were carrying out near identical actions, including their leader, who had produced a heavy .44 magnum from the pocket of his long leather jacket. The rest were unsheathing the machete-like weapons that served as the Legion's equivalent of the Roman _gladius_, lethal as any firearm in close combat.

Cass moved fastest of all, in almost the same action springing forwards, drawing her Bowie Knife and slashing through the arm of the nearest Legionary, causing him to drop his gun with a scream and a spray of blood. In the next instant she had pulled him onto her, and upthrust the dagger into his heart, the razor-sharp blade gliding through the hardened leather as though it were cloth.

But Veronica was left a mere spectator as the duel between Boone and the leader played itself out, seeming to do so with nightmare slowness. She saw Boone's pistol travel upwards to point with precision at his adversary's head. At the same time, the leader levelled the magnum at chest height.

Its roar drowned the ten millimetre's bark.

Veronica watched aghast as Boone groaned and staggered back, blood spurting from his right shoulder. He began what appeared to be a slow motion fall, even as his opponent's skull exploded from a bullet drilled precisely through the centre of the forehead.

Without a pause for thought, Veronica leapt forward and reached for Boone's collapsing body, swivelling it round and away from the melee attacks that would surely follow, shielding it with her own. She tensed, expecting any second to feel the agonising stab of steel.

Green goo splattered over her robe. Arcade had shut one eye and shot the closest assassin with his Plasma Defender, reducing the target to a puddle of viscous slime. Veronica continued to support the semi-conscious sniper, starting to put pressure on the wound in his shoulder, from which blood was still flowing rapidly.

Cass was using the dead Legionary as a shield against a living one, thrusting the corpse towards him, catching him with a blink as she cut towards his face with the dagger, then kicking him hard in the crotch. As he doubled up, she stabbed downwards into his neck.

The last surviving assassin hesitated, faced by Cass on one flank, and Arcade across the table covering him with the plasma pistol.

"True to Caesar!" he shouted defiantly, brandishing the machete.

"Fuck Caesar!" Arcade growled, and shot him in the stomach. This time the ball of energy merely burnt its way through the leather armour, and the Legionary collapsed, moaning pitifully.

Arcade was already moving towards Boone, a Super stimpak in hand. Boone's breathing was ragged, and his face was twisted and near white. Arcade injected the hypodermic into a spot close to the wound, then searched in his doctor's bag for some bandages to bind it. He worked efficiently, though perspiration trickled down the lines of anxiety gathered on his forehead.

Cass stood over the dying Legionary, holding up his machete. "You want a quick, honourable death? Tell me who let you in."

"Fuck you, bitch!" the man spat. "I, Rufus Sextus, remain Caesar's loyal Decanus to the death!"

"You've no loyalty to the Omertas. Was it Cachino?"

Sextus was racked by a convulsion. "Yes." he muttered. "It was ..."

The chatter of automatic fire was followed by rows of holes appearing in the Decanus' chest. He coughed blood and died.

Cass raised a quizzical eyebrow to the man standing nearby with the smoking smg.

"Well, well, Cachino," she said. "It seems you were a little late this time."

Veronica and Arcade had helped Boone into a chair. Since the application of the stimpak and dressing, his respiration had steadied and eased, though he continued to grimace, and his complexion was nearly colourless. Arcade looked only a little less gaunt, but Veronica read relief in his eyes.

"Do you think he'll be okay?"

"It's a bit soon to say, but the signs are good that he's survived the shock and initial crisis. Stims ought to keep him out of trouble for now, along with some med-x for the pain. Then its down to allowing him rest and giving me a chance to treat him."

"Then he _will_ be okay."

"How come you're so sure?"

"Because you'll be taking care of him."

Arcade gave a faint smile. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"You deserve it. You probably saved my life back there too."

"As you did his. And that needed far more bravery."

"Me I put it down to the whisky." Cass sounded nonchalant, but her eyes were hard. "I've always said it helps you shrug off the damage like an old overcoat." She gave Arcade a serious look. "I take it he's gonna pull through."

"In all probability," he told her, "he'll be up and glaring within a day or two."

"Good. Because he'll want to see those responsible get what's coming to them." She turned back to the _Gomorrah_ manager.

Cachino's balding pate was drenched with sweat, his eyes creased as though he were in pain. Hurt and outrage infused his expression and voice, as he vigorously hunched his shoulders and spread his hands. "Hey, Cassie, I dunno what the fuck you're talking about! They've all bin stiffed. Unless you wanna count Caesar; and even your friend's arm ain't long enough to nail _his_ arse."

"Oh, but its easily long enough to wipe out you and your cheap bunch of hoods. Just a little visit from your friendly neighbourhood Securitrons."

Cachino's gesticulation became yet more violent. "What the fuck? Are you kiddin' me?"

"No, I kid you not. Someone had to let those Legion bastards in, and it had to be you." Cass grabbed Cachino by the lapels of his pre-war suit, resembling his face in fading from a grey-white hue to sand colour. Pulling him close enough to stare eyeball to eyeball, she snarled, "When the Courier hears about this, she'll be ready to roast you creeps over a slow fire. Those who only get to sleep with the Lake Lurks will be the lucky ones. Now maybe if you spit out the truth, I might give you the chance to leave Vegas alive."

"I swear to God, Cassie … I never ..."

"Call me that one more time, and you'll be looking up your arse from below."

"Please … I mean seriously, we're supposed to keep every hit squad outa doors?"

"I'm gonna count down to your last chance … two .. one ..."

"Okay, okay! Just … ease up." Cass released him, and he nervously loosened his collar and rearranged his jacket. "Look, Caesar got in touch. He told me he wanted to deliver your friend a warning message … just a warning was all. You know _Beware the Wrath of Caesar_ kinda thing. And all we had to do was let the messenger boys in at the right moment. Betcha all the Vegas families got told the same. Anyway he made it pretty clear how pissed he'd be if we didn't play along. So I thought, what the hell … I mean you guys hardly ever visit us these days, and maybe you'll go somewhere else, so how will it hurt if I ..."

Cass shook her head. "Cachino, Cachino! You can't help being a no-good, hypocritical, lying snake, its in your nature. Even when your lies don't add up. You let in these fucks armed and in disguise, when its obvious from their weapons and manner they're a high level assassin squad. Led by a centurion, maybe even a praetorian. Whatever message they were delivering, you could bet your butt it'd be a pretty lethal one."

"No see, Caesar _did _wanna negotiate 'cos he said he was sending a frumentarius along too. Sorta to convey his wishes."

"Oh really? And where is this frumentarius now?"

Cachino made a despairing gesture. "I swear to God, Cassie … Cass … I swear to God, I don't know. He never showed up."

"He never showed 'cos he's a figure of your lying imagination!"

"No, for real, this time I'm telling you the truth! You think I could just make that stuff up? I'm not that smart, I'm telling you."

"No, you're not very smart, I agree. So I'll make it simple for you. If you want to keep your balls from being cut off and hung up for decorations, you'll do what I say. My friend has been hurt, thanks to you. I want him stretchered back to the _Lucky 38_. Meanwhile, you, I and everyone else here will be looking for this frumentarius. You'd better hope we find him."

"What the hell … he probably isn't even here!"

"Oh, if you're telling me the truth, and Caesar said he'd sent him, then he'll be here, somewhere. It might just not be so obvious who he is. Except by certain signs which'll only become clear when he's searched."

"You want us to turn over all our guests? You'll ruin us!"

"I don't think you're quite getting the idea that your days running _Gomorrah_ are numbered. You're right on the edge of the precipice as it is." Cass paused as though to consider. "Still maybe shaking everyone down might be a bit too brash. Could lead him to take fright. Just pass the word amongst your people to keep their eyes open. Anything suspicious, I want to know. Then we take any dubious characters aside, find out what's what."

"Jees, I guess that's a little better. Since you're riding my arse, I'll arrange it."

"Good. Veronica and I will be here to make sure you do."

Cachino began to bark orders, and Omerta guards in shades and cheap suits started dragging off the corpses, though not, Veronica noted, before rifling them for valuables. She said in a lower voice. "You want us to stay here? Is that gonna be safe?"

"Safer than leaving a frumentarius on the loose. He might be in a position to organise another hit, even inside the _Lucky 38_. He's not gonna want to go back to Caesar and report failure. And frankly I don't trust Cachino's people to winkle him out."

"If delivering a warning was the idea, then it wasn't a total mess up. They took Boone down."

"True, but I reckon if there was a message, it was supposed to be something like, 'we can kill your friends, even in the heart of Vegas'. Caesar might feel that point hasn't been made vigorously enough."

Veronica nodded reluctantly. "Something's certainly got Caesar mad. Maybe the alliance with the Great Khans was one too many for him."

"Could be." Cass looked meditative. "The hit squad were disguised as Khans. Despite what Cachino said, maybe Caesar intended them to be blamed. In which case, there's even more chance that any remaining Legion forces will try finishing the job."

Veronica turned to Arcade. "Will you be okay taking Boone to the _38_ on your own?"

"With some help from Cachino's guys, I think so. And I'll try getting Yes Man to up security."

"There's the thing though, can we trust Cachino?"

Cass said, "I don't entirely believe his story, but he's running scared. He knows if the Omertas raise a hand against us themselves, the Courier will know it. And her vengeance on them then will be something awful to behold. Right now there's just a chance they might wriggle themselves some leniency. That should keep him honest … honest enough anyway."

An oddly-assorted group had appeared, consisting of two Omerta guards and a couple of scantily-clad whores, carrying an improvised stretcher made out of boards and a mattress. Arcade regarded them with resignation.

"Is this the best they could do? Okay, let's get him on it … very carefully."

Veronica helped him lift Boone from the chair. Once lowered onto the mattress, Boone lay with a calm dignity somewhat disconsonant with his motley party of attendants, like an august marble statue oblivious to the gawpers crowding round.

Cass said to Arcade: "Sit tight with him in the _38_. If we can sniff out Caesar's snake, then you oughta be safe enough there. But if not, then we'll be back by dawn."

Arcade nodded his understanding. As the whores and thugs lifted the stretcher, Veronica leaned over to touch Boone on the arm. "Hang in there for us, Craig."

The slightest of smiles touched Boone's lips. "Thanks," he murmured.

Once the strange procession, marshalled by Arcade, had headed out of _Gomorrah_'s ornate main doors, Veronica turned to Cass. "I hope we're not making a mistake letting them go."

Cass waved a hand dismissively. "A calculated risk. Its not like we've leaving them completely unguarded." She essayed a smirk. "In any case, Arcade will love playing nurse to Boone."

Veronica shook her head, "You're incorrigible. So how are we gonna do this?"

"It's a tough one. We can keep an eye on the open areas with no problems. But if our man's lying low in one of the guest rooms, its not gonna be easy getting to him without creating a lot of disturbance."

Veronica screwed up her face in thought. "You're right. Unless we've got a good excuse, the _Gomorrah_ guests will be raising hell if we infringe on their privacy."

"Heh, raising hell, very good!"

"Oh, I didn't mean it as a … wait, I've got an idea! Room service!"

Cass wasn't slow on the up take. "Of course! Genius! Even if they weren't expecting it, most people will accept it as a perk, at least if they think they won't be charged. That should let us check out most of the rooms without attracting attention."

"Though it could take a while, especially if we actually have to provide the service."

"Unfortunately. Still we need to do this properly. And I'm thinking I should be the one to do it."

"Yes, I agree. If anyone can convince people she's delivering _Gomorrah_'s special personal service, it's you," Veronica simpered.

"Thanks! I'll get on to Cachino, and get myself kitted out. Meanwhile you need to keep a sharp eye out around the rest of the casino. I'd start from the basement areas and work up."

"That makes sense." Veronica was on the point of leaving when she hesitated.

"Hey, as I'm not going on the date after all, you may as well tell me who it was gonna be."

A sphinx-like smile stole across Cass's face, the flushed roses of her cheeks shining, her clear, blue eyes bright, as though in enjoyment of a private joke. Her voice was vibrant with mirth.

"Oh, _that? _It'll keep for another day right enough!"

Before Veronica could protest, she had gone.

* * *

Veronica leaned against the bar, and regarded its stained, wooden surface wearily. The day had been long and tiring. Were it not for her afternoon siesta, she would be almost out on her feet by now. But the tiredness was more mental, born of frustration.

She had scoured _Gomorrah_ from its depths to mid-levels without success. Almost no one likely to be a Legion agent had crossed her path. Most had either been women or accompanied by them, virtually debarring them as suspects. The only females in Caesar's Legion were slaves, and Veronica could distinguish the lifeless look of those from the various gamblers, hangers-on and good-time girls she had encountered. And the few exceptions had fitted into defined categories of _Gomorrah_ clients so well she'd hardly felt it necessary to call on any Omerta back-up to shake them down.

The Upper levels, _the Third Circle of Hell,_ were still unchecked. But those weren't normally open to guests, and so out of the scope of her search, unless the spy had actually infiltrated the Omerta ranks.

_That's not completely out of the question, _Veronica thought. _Cachino probably assumed the frumentarius had yet to arrive. But if he were already here … _still, it seemed improbable. The Courier had already crushed the Legion operation to take over the Strip via the Omertas, something which Caesar had been forced to accept with grudging admiration. It was not usually his way to devote further efforts to those who had already failed him. A one-off assassination attempt was all this was likely to be, with Legion personnel assigned accordingly.

_If he's gone to ground, then it's up to Cass to find him. _Meanwhile this cocktail lounge on the second floor was a convenient observation point. It had a balcony overlooking the main gambling area on the ground level, and was as good a place as any to watch for the spy, should he choose to come out.

The only other patrons at the bar with her were a drunken and giggling couple. Veronica guessed from the way they leaned close to one another that they were not far off from finding a room to consummate whatever relationship – boyfriend/girlfriend, whore/client, master/slave, dominatrix/gimp – had brought them to _Gomorrah_'s infernal regions.

_Was this what Cass had in mind for me? Squealing with drunken laughter at someone's vapid flattery? Is that really what she thought me capable of? It'd be nice to think she had more respect. But, damn her, who the hell was my date?_

"You look as though you don't belong here."

Veronica started. Her reverie had made her oblivious to the approach of the speaker. He was dressed in unremarkable garments typical of a professional gambler: a large homburg, a dapper, brown suit, with a bow tie of the same colour knotted around the collar of his immaculate, white shirt. His face likewise seemed undistinguished; quiet, empty of expression, the tone of his voice soft. Yet something of its insistence, and the way his words chimed with her own state of mind, brought a ready response.

"That's exactly what I was thinking."

He stepped forward to lean over the bar next to her. "When one's thoughts are in tune with another's, that speaks of destiny."

_This is another pick-up, then, _Veronica thought. _Today I can't seem to avoid them. Seems like half of Vegas is angling to get in my panties. At least I can be sure this time it isn't Cass's date. She would never have chosen such a strange little man. _Looking at him again, she made some revisions to that opinion. The diminutive size was more an impression given by his nondescript appearance. He was only slightly below her height, and there was a hint of muscularity about him somewhat surprising for one who presumably spent much time sitting at gaming tables. She noticed his shoes were black and highly polished.

She tried to keep her tone distant, without being chilly enough to provoke hostility. Drawing attention to herself by creating a scene would be counter-productive. "Some might say destiny, others coincidence."

He gave a short laugh. "Perhaps destiny, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. And is fulfilled according to how strongly we believe in it."

_This one's something of a deep thinker._ _He's also nearly old enough to be my father; not far off middle aged. _She asked, "And how strongly do you believe?"

Again he seemed to find her response amusing, though there was no frivolity evident in his expression. "I suspect more strongly than you at your age. It requires time to acquire belief, to form one's opinions on firm foundations."

_Its as though he's anticipated my __most likely__ objection to his advances, his age, by outlining the advantages of experience. _Veronica was finding it difficult not to get drawn into the conversation, becoming interested in the gambler's remarks despite herself.

"You may be right about that, but I'm surely entitled to keep my options open?"

The gambler inclined his head slightly, as though acknowledging Veronica's verbal dexterity without conceding her point. "It has been said that the purpose of keeping an open mind is to find something of worth to close it upon."

_And he's summed up my entire dilemma with the Brotherhood, along with the meaning and purpose of my life right there. A pity he's not a leggy brunette with a less creepy manner. I'd have gone on a date with him right away, if only out of curiosity. _

"Discovering what's worthy of one's time and effort isn't easy."

"Indeed and to do so it might be of benefit to listen to someone of greater experience. But only you can choose the path you take through life."

"Choices once made are hard to alter."

He removed his hat, and placed it on the bar, revealing a full head of black hair, thick but clipped close to his skull.

"To fail to make them is to live a coward's existence. In my youth, I chose to live boldly rather than harbour regrets in my old age. Consequently I have few. I would suggest you do the same."

_This is almost too spooky. Its like he's seen into my inmost secret place. And he's right! I must be bold!_

Veronica stole a closer glance at the man. He was certainly not unhandsome, his complexion having a smoothness that spoke of healthy, good living. His nose was flared somewhat wide, his cheek bones well-sculpted, his coral coloured lips a thinnish line. Perhaps there was a hint of nobility in his carriage, a product of his calm and confident manner.

She said, "I normally make it a rule not to engage in long, philosophical discussions with strangers."

It was possible that the ghost of a smile crossed the man's lips. "Then perhaps I should introduce myself. I'm a commercial traveller, with an occasional interest in gambling. You may call me Reynard."

_'You may call me'? How very appropriate for a Gomorrah guest! He might as well have 'Ima Pseudonym' tattooed on his forehead! _There seemed, however, no reason to conceal her own name. He'd most likely think she'd made it up too. "You may call me Veronica."

"And in the interests of continuing our discourse, Veronica, may I ask your purpose in visiting an establishment so out of keeping with your temperament?"

_You may indeed ask ... but why not tell him the truth? _"I came here on a blind date. Arranged by a friend … it was her choice of venue, not mine."

Reynard nodded vigorously. "Now I understand the dichotomy. I even share it. There is much in this place that oppresses my sense of rightness."

Veronica smiled wryly. "Yet we're here. Does that make us both hypocrites?"

Reynard gave the slightest of frowns, as though affronted by the thought. Then he said, "To understand the nature of corruption, one must confront it, yet stand apart."

"I see. You came here only to gamble then? But you are not corrupted by it." _I went a little too far there. He may think I'm mocking him, and become angry._

But Reynard's visage had resumed its smoothness, more contemplative than angered. He said, "I've learnt those lessons needed. And now … I teach them to others." As though brushing aside the thought, he continued abruptly. "The hour is late, and you're here alone. Has your 'blind date' left you?"

Veronica shook her head sadly. "He never showed up."

"Then that is his loss." Reynard turned to look directly at her for the first time. "Perhaps the offer of a drink by a stranger may be some small consolation?"

_I have to admire the way he exploited that opening, even if I did give him the opportunity myself. It's also made it harder for me to refuse politely, but accepting may draw me in deeper than I want._

Veronica said, "That's sweet of you, but I've already had far too much to drink."

Reynard hesitated only fractionally. "Then I will buy us spritzers only. I myself prefer not to imbibe excess alcohol when at the tables." He was signalling for the drinks before Veronica could object further.

_Oh well, its harmless enough, and I could do with some refreshment. If he appears to be coming on too strong, I'll just have to blow him out._

As the drinks were being poured, Reynard lifted himself onto a bar stool, grimacing as he did so. "Forgive me, an old infirmity. I was wounded at Hoover Dam."

"You fought at the Dam?" Veronica was intrigued. "That must have been … exciting."

"It was certainly a momentous occasion. The issue was balanced as on the edge of a blade. The Legion captured the dam initially, and seemed close to victory."

"So I've heard. It was only when NCR sharpshooters lured them into an ambush in the ruins of Boulder City that the battle swung away from them. Did you see that happen?"

Reynard shook his head gravely. "I was already _hors de combat. _Perhaps fortunately so. The climax of a great battle mingles the heartbreak of the defeated with the jubilation of the victors."

"You felt sorry for the defeated?"

Reynard _did _raise a smile then, though it was not a particularly pleasant one. "Sorrow? No. Sympathy? Yes. Well, here are the drinks." Reaching into his jacket pocket, he asked, "Do you smoke?" Veronica made a negative sign. "Ah, it appears I'm out in any case." Addressing the barkeep, "Do you have any _Players? _No? I wonder if there might be some in the machine." He seemed about to dismount from the stool, wincing again, but Veronica forestalled him.

"I'll go and take a look for you." The ageing cigarette machine contained only cheap _Luck__ies__, _and she returned quickly. "I'm sorry, there weren't any of that brand."

"It's of no great consequence, but I appreciate your consideration for an old soldier. Here's your spritzer; I believe its a blend of Nevada agave fruit and cactus juice, along with other special ingredients." He pushed the glass towards her, and as he did so their eyes met directly.

His were the grey of lowering clouds, beneath black, angular brows. Veronica's gaze was held by them for a long moment. Something in the intensity of them fascinated her; they seemed to hint of hidden passions not yet displayed. But what was he passionate about? Despite his professed sympathy for his enemies, nothing in his expression suggested kindliness or humanity. As she raised her glass, Veronica thought, _I__t__'__s only my intuition, but there's something about him which is beginning to make me uncomfortable. Just because he's intelligent doesn't mean he's not some kind of sexual pervert. In any case, I shouldn't be distracted like this. Better to find some excuse to leave._

The drink combined a sweet, fruitiness with a sharp, tangy element; pleasant but a little startling. She sipped it, before saying, "You know I'm feeling rather unwell, and perhaps should go to the bathroom."

He sounded unconcerned. "Really? Very likely you've had too much to drink, as you said. Try some more of your fruit juice; it may make you feel better." He raised his own glass. "Come, what shall we drink to?"

Feeling somewhat trapped, Veronica said, "I really can't think. _To_ _Better __Day__s _perhaps_?"_

Reynard clinked his glass with hers approvingly. "A good toast. Its important to look forward to a world without flaws. But I have one more appropriate to an age of conflict, _To Future Conquests". _He produced his somewhat sinister smile again.

Veronica silently lifted her glass, while thinking, _I'm not becoming one of yours! _She had rapidly downed more than a third of the beverage, before Reynard asked, "So how are you feeling now?"

"I … feel strange." Veronica wasn't feigning this time. She was experiencing a peculiar upside-down sensation. And the floor … or was it the ceiling … seemed to have a magnetic attraction drawing her towards it.

As though a pane of invisible glass had divided them, she heard Reynard's strangely muffled voice talking to the barkeep, "The lady isn't feeling well. I'll take her back to her room."

Veronica opened her mouth to object to the unasked for assistance, but no sound issued. Her vocal cords seemed paralysed, and her limbs likewise were quickly losing their power. She felt Reynard grip her under the arms with a strength that indicated she'd completely underestimated his muscularity earlier. The fatigue which she'd temporarily thrown off now slammed down on her like a hammer, leaving her at the point of collapse.

The last undazed portion of her mind threw up the thought, _I've been drugged. _Then the darkness took her.

* * *

She ran away from it, as though agents of the night had set the hounds of hell on her trail. She fled again to that place of safety, where everything was fine in the best of all possible worlds.

The Second Battle for Hoover Dam had been won, and the Courier's forces were returning to New Vegas in triumph. Ranks of Securitrons marched in the van, while the citizens of Westside and Freeside strewed desert flowers before them, the sweet aroma from their crushed heads rising like the smell of victory. They were greeted at the gates by a welcoming committee of obsequiously bowing White Gloves, fawning Chairmen and subservient Omertas.

All the Companions were present. A beaming Arcade was arm in arm with Boone, wearing his best dress uniform. Lily the blue-skinned Nightkin was walking with Raul Tejada the ghoul mechanic, who was holding a joyously barking Rex on a leash. ED-E the Enclave Bot was beeping excitedly, floating above Cass's head, his wiry antennae seeming to wave in a festive fashion. Dressed in her cowgirl hat and pink shirt, the ex-caravanner brought up the rear, swigging on a whisky bottle.

And Veronica was with the Courier, of course, at the head of the procession. The Courier looked magnificent, wearing a Centurion's helm with a scarlet plume, and shining metal armour, like a conquering hero from ancient times receiving a deserved ovation. Her golden hair wreathed her face, which appeared to emanate a light of its own, and her eyes, the fierce blue of the Mojave sky, seemed constantly turned towards Veronica's.

When they entered the Strip, they were joined by an escort of Brotherhood Knights in full power armour, including Father Elijah, who smiled benignly as though bestowing a blessing. They marched past two sets of stocks, where Caesar and President Kimbal of the NCR were being pelted with rotten Mutfruit by jeering Great Khans, and a stage where the King was leading a chorus of Kings in a song of celebration.

Finally they reached the _Lucky 38, _and the Courier stopped to address the jubilant crowd from the steps, her companions gathered behind her like the winning competitors on a rostrum. A respectful hush fell as she began.

"_Behold, I make all things new!" _

And the Courier spoke on, looking as radiant as a bride on her wedding day, cheered at every pause, as she described how the Mojave would be transformed into a paradise on earth and how, as the old order passed, tears of suffering would be wiped away and replaced by those of joy. And Veronica felt those of pride welling as she watched her beloved.

But when the Courier stopped for breath a little longer, there came into the resulting silence a loud and offensive burp. Veronica looked behind her to see who could have perpetrated such an inappropriate solecism; and there she beheld Cass with a hand pressed primly to her chest, her expression innocent.

She returned her attention to the Courier, who had resumed speaking, and discerned that she continued to smile serenely. She was describing how New Vegas would be rebuilt even more magnificently as the capital of a wonderful new commonwealth, in which all would share the benefits. The applause from the crowd was greater than before.

And again as the Courier paused, someone nearby broke wind in a violent and deliberate fashion. Veronica turned to see Cass fanning the air nonchalantly.

Once more the Courier continued to address the crowd, but Veronica perceived that she frowned, and the cheers that punctuated her speech were mingled with boos and hoots. Her tone grew sterner, as she dwelt on the punishments that would befall those who failed to share her vision of a revived New Vegas, with all enemies of the commonwealth cast into outer darkness amidst weeping and gnashing of teeth.

And for a third time the Courier's oratory was interrupted, this time by an emphatic and prolonged yawn. Veronica spun round to catch Cass with her hand inadequately half-way to her mouth.

Then the Courier spoke no more, but took a step towards Cass, and her expression was terrible to see. Immediately all of the cheering, booing and hissing ceased.

Veronica held out her arms to Cass in appeal. "Why are you doing this, you're spoiling everything!"

Cass looked unperturbed. "I'm not spoiling anything."

"You are! Everyone's happy, except for you!"

"This is all a dream, Veronica, its never going to happen like this. You need to wake up now. WAKE UP!"

* * *

"Come on, wake up. You've slept long enough. Yes, that's right."

The darkness wouldn't allow her to hide any longer. Consciousness was slowly returning. She was aware of a chill blast of air across her skin. She could not move her arms or legs properly. Her whole body felt deadly cold.

_I'm … I must be … I've no clothes on._

Suddenly somebody slapped her across the face. The shock forced her eyes to open.

The light had a reddish tinge, emanating from a single lamp nearby, not very bright, but turned enough in her direction to make her blink. As far as she could make out, the bedroom she was in was quite large. She was held awkwardly upright, and bound by the hands and feet to one of the tall bed posters. As she'd feared, she was completely naked, the glow of the lamp picking out every pore of her skin.

The shadowy figure of a man stood directly in front of her. As he moved backwards, his face gained more side illumination from the source of the light.

It was Reynard.

He had removed his jacket and tie, leaving his white shirt open at the neck. He still wore his dark trousers and shoes, and an expression of quiet satisfaction. Other details of his appearance and the room were lost amidst a rising wave of fear in Veronica's body and mind, sheening her forehead with perspiration, and choking off the words in her throat. She felt herself trembling, not only from the cold, but with raw terror.

He watched her silently and intently, as though drinking in her reactions.

_Why doesn't he speak? _Veronica struggled to master her emotions, but her dread grew greater, not less, with the anticipation of the horrors that might lie in store. The rational part of her mind told her this was a deliberate tactic on the part of her captor. In a desperate attempt at distraction, she tried to absorb more information about her surroundings.

That she was in a suite somewhere in _Gomorrah_ was in little doubt. The furnishings were of similar luxuriousness to those of the _Lucky 38_, but in a far less pristine condition. The chairs and stools were worn and chipped, the carpets frayed. The mirrors that occupied both walls and ceiling were as grimy as the sins they had reflected. The bed linen, though clean, gave the impression that it had been used for more previous debaucheries than she cared to imagine. The carpeting and wall paper heavily favoured shades of red, but the clincher, so far as the location was concerned, was a paperweight atop the bedside table, in the shape of a gleeful little imp. Its capering stance and upright phallus seemed to mock her predicament.

Reluctantly she turned her attention back to Reynard. How long was he going to maintain this silent treatment? _Better than beginning whatever sadistic games he has in mind, _she told herself. But her teeth continued to chatter, and the urge to provoke a reaction, any reaction, to break the vicious cycle of fear, was becoming overwhelming.

As though he anticipated that she was almost at the point of breaking, Reynard took a stride towards the lamp, and turned it up even brighter, forcing her to squint anew, and making her feel the exposure of her body more keenly. She became aware of his gaze roving over the intimate areas of flesh which she was helpless to conceal, and the blood rushed to her face. It was a victory for him; he wanted her to feel shamed and at his mercy.

Rather than accepting the ultimate defeat of begging him to stop, she rapped out, "Who are you? Why have you brought me here?"

He returned to standing in front of her. "Our reports suggested you possess a somewhat greater share of the meagre intelligence afforded to the female sex. If so you have yet to use it to any effect."

_Our reports? He's right … I've been very, very stupid. The way he described fighting at Hoover Dam, the issue balanced 'on the edge of a blade', 'Sorrow? no. Sympathy, yes.' And when it was almost too late, drinking 'To Future Conquests'. Stupid because I was so fixated on the idea that he was yet another suitor angling for sexual favours. I couldn't see what was right under my nose. _

His tone and expression increasingly gloating, Reynard continued, "I know, of course, that you're a Brotherhood scribe, so its possible you're familiar with a pre-war book called _Dante's Inferno. _In it the message inscribed over the Gates of Hell is _'Abandon all hope, you who enter here'. _I would suggest this could not be more appropriate to the situation you find yourself in."

_He's not far off terrifying me into losing all control and dignity. _But Veronica was determined not to give in so easily, and Reynard's last taunt had conversely ignited a spark of hope, rather than extinguishing it as he'd intended

Trying to make her voice sound angry and defiant rather than fearful and desperate, she said, "Not while I'm still alive it isn't."

Reynard responded with the most unpleasant smile he'd yet managed. "Your poor attempt at resistance will make the task of utterly breaking you just a little more amusing for me. When you finally leave here, there will be so little life left in you as will make no difference. I will use you up, and leave only a husk behind."

It was hard for Veronica to make any reply to that, particularly with her heart hammering like a ballistic fist tester. But she had a purpose now, and that was to hold out and delay her tormentor for as long as possible.

She said, "You're the frumentarius Cachino warned us about."

"It doesn't surprise me that his tongue ran loose; we will cut it out eventually if your own people allow him to live. Though for all the good its done you, he might well have saved his breath." Reynard seemed to draw himself up taller and straighter. "But then his description of the danger you faced was inadequate. You might call me the frumentarius of the frumentarii. Glorious Caesar has in his wisdom seen fit to make me their leader, to plan and direct their strategy. My name is Vulpes Inculta."

* * *

*I could imagine all the readers mentally shouting "He's behind you!" But as I know when I try to find anything, you tend to miss what's right under your nose. I wondered too how many extra story hits I would've got if I'd dropped his name in the Story Summary. But that would've spoiled the surprise naturally.

I guess I lied a little when I said that Veronica's date would be revealed this chapter. But not entirely, its just turned out to be the ultimate blind date gone wrong. As for the unprecedented long delay between chapters, there's nothing more I can add. There's some consolation for the few of you waiting for _I'll Be Your Mirror, _that I've been working on that too. But I switched back to this fic when the inspiration took me. And I'm also hoping that the best of the story is yet to come.

And so back to the regular notes:

_Machetes: _admittedly they don't look much like a gladius, but this seems to be how Legionaries use them. Also there's the _Machete Gladius, _which does resemble the Roman short sword and can be rather bizarrely repaired with a normal machete. Though employed by Legion assassins, they aren't holdout weapons (not even if you have high sneak). But to my mind they look about as easy to conceal as a cleaver. In this case, of course, they didn't have to be smuggled in.

_Bowie Knife: _Cass's default melee weapon is a combat knife. I thought a Bowie Knife was more Cowgirl-esque however.

_Beware the Wrath of Caesar: _Someone asked me last chapter why assassins were attacking when the Courier was supposed to be on good terms with Caesar. The answer is the mission of this name; it can occur even if you've got a neutral or better relationship with the Legion, and in that case warns you about working further with Yes Man against Caesar's interests (i.e. forming independent alliances such as the Courier's with the Khans).

_Reynard: _in Latin _Vulpes _means 'fox'. The original French derived from it was _goupil,_ but due to the popularity of folk tales about Reynard the Fox, _renard _became the commonly used word. Hence the pseudonym. Incidentally NV Wiki translates Vulpes Inculta as 'Rough Fox'. According to Google translate, _Inculta _means 'Uncultivated', also in connection with land, such as deserts or wastes. So an alternative might be 'Wasteland Fox' or even (with a possible nod to Rommel) 'Desert Fox'.

_Spritzers: _I understand that in the US they are often completely non-alcoholic, whereas in Europe wine is usually mixed in_._

_Behold I make all things new: _this and other references in the Courier's speech are from Revelation Ch 21 describing a New Heaven and a New Earth.*


End file.
